Little Children
by Elizabeth Shawnessey
Summary: When children begin disappearing in Willow, Connecticut, Amy Winchester and Taylor Rosen head in to investigate. However, after a bumpy ride while attempting to gain information that would help them put the pieces together, both girls encounter someone they wouldn't expect, someone Amy had fully believed to be miles away. Set during "Provenance"; seventh in a series; long.
1. Prologue

**Author's Note:** I'm so sorry this took _so long_ to upload, but I wasn't sure what I wanted to do with this story in the middle of writing the first draft, causing it to go through multiple revisions. Also, yes, I'm aware I'm abusing the Amy tag yet again, and I'm also sorry for that. It's just so convenient to use! If anyone truly has a problem with it, you can let me know and I'll stop! Additionally, following this posting, I'll be taking a break from writing for awhile to catch up on the thousands of books I've been neglecting for the past few months, but have no fear, I will return! Anyway, without further ado, here is the season one finale of the 11785 series!

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Available for download in PDF. I promise you that I don't have any viruses. I just **strongly recommend **it seeing as this was written in book format. Visit the Tumblr dedicated to this series, "11785", for details.

Or just read it here (:

PROLOGUE

Walter Residence  
Willow, Connecticut  
Thursday, October 5, 2006  
9:09 PM

**I**t was a struggle to get Molly into bed every night, but after nine years of practice, Susan Walter had become a pro. With every complaint for needing water, the bed being too cold, or the nightlight not being bright enough, Susan had learned that each was an attempt to prolong the inevitable, and had discovered a way to head off the requests by making sure they were filled before Molly was tucked in.

Being a single mother, Susan had encountered her fair share of problems when it came to dealing with the rambunctious nine-year-old she had raised. Molly, who was as imaginative as they came, was often hard to keep up with as she ran through the backyard claiming the doghouse was a castle, the rose bushes were mazes, and the swimming pool was an ocean. As Susan watched her daughter sprint around the lawn chasing Yellow—their golden retriever, named after Molly's favorite color—she would often get exhausted just observing the energy that was executed, sometimes needing to head to bed way before Molly had calmed down.

Often, Molly's imagination would extend past the backyard fun, sometimes taking it to school and getting in trouble as she pretended to be fighting dragons rather than paying attention in class. When math time came, Molly would be in Wonderland; when it was time to read, Molly would usually whip out the copy of _The Hobbit_ her father had bought her, the last thing he had done before turning tail and skipping town; and when it came to recess, Molly would often be the one engrossing the other kids in a tale she had thought up the night before instead of playing. As her classmates listened to stories of witches casting spells in the moonlight, creatures who slept under beds and attacked only when they were sure the parents had left the room, and of mermaids who lived in her bathtub, Molly held a captive audience until the bell rang, usually with mixed results. More often than not, teachers would overhear the other kids calling Molly a variation of names when they thought the adults were out of earshot, the tamest being "Weird-o Walter", a nickname that was passed around the entirety of the fourth grade until Susan had caught it while picking her daughter up from school.

But it wasn't all bad. Even though Molly had a propensity for making up tales and daydreaming, she also had a tendency to keep her grades up and stay out of trouble. Only once had the school called to complain about Molly's absentmindedness, doing so because she had written a story about riding Yellow through the jungle for a report instead of doing the assignment on the rain forest that had been given to her class. Shrugging it off, Susan had disregarded the phone call, knowing that Molly was otherwise doing her homework after sundown and playtime, giving Susan a couple of hours to relax and catch the news before putting her daughter to bed. However, as soon as the pencil went down, Molly's spirits would often rise again, causing the pent-up energy that she had contained in the time it took her to do her assignments to bubble over as she fought against being tucked in.

Most of the time, Susan didn't mind the nightly struggle, noticing that as soon as her daughter was under the covers, she was usually out like a light—but that didn't make the process any easier. While Molly went through the motions of being thirsty and cold, which was becoming justifiable based on the blooming autumn, Susan gave her water and a new blanket, promising that Molly would warm up if she were to lie still long enough. But as they walked up the stairs, that's where the fun usually began for both of them as Molly told Susan about the new monster story she had "heard from a girl at school", which usually meant somewhere in the recesses of her mind, and relaying the information excitedly to Susan's listening ears.

Tonight, however, Susan wasn't in the listening mood. For most of the day, she had been at work at the accounting firm she temped for, filing documents and having to listen to her momentary boss make snide remarks about single mothers and the fact that they're an "easy lay". As she attempted to grin and bear it throughout the hours she had to sit outside the bastard's office, trying to think of ways she could report him for sexual harassment even though he wasn't talking directly to her, Susan had made plans to pick Molly up from school and head straight home. Instead, the car seemed to have different ideas, with a tire popping just in front of the onramp to I-84 and the tow service neglecting to show up for an hour. Trying to find a way to reach Molly's school to let them know she would be late, Susan had contended with a nearly-dead cell phone and a busy line, finally getting through at the moment AAA arrived. Distracted, Susan had left a quick message with the front office, not sure what would happen after that, before having to shell out a hundred bucks for a new tire since her spare was nowhere to be seen.

By the time she got to West Hartford Elementary, the town she lived in being too small to erect a school for the handful of young children in the area, Susan had found Molly sitting alone in her classroom, the teacher gone to talk with her co-worker in the hall. Nearly fuming with Ms. Grace for leaving her daughter unattended, Susan had stormed off with Molly in tow, zipping home and immediately starting on dinner. Almost at the moment the two had walked through the front door, the sun had gone down, dropping from the sky in the blink of an eye, and causing Susan to wonder whether or not it was a reflection of the ordeal she had gone through during the day. Unfortunately, sun up or down, Molly still wanted to go out and play, making the argument that she usually had to come in at six instead of five, and trying to stomp her way toward the door to the backyard. Giving her a firm warning that if she were to go out, she would be grounded until Monday, Susan had watched as Molly cried and ran into the living room, staying there with Yellow until it was time for supper.

Thankfully, the moment the chicken and rice was on the table, Molly's mood had changed, becoming talkative and imaginative again as she played with her food and threw some of it to the dog. Though she knew that her daughter had been taught not to feed Yellow from the table, Susan had let it go for the night, choosing instead to pick her battles. She had already had to deal with a sleaze-ball disguised as an accountant, an overweight trucker with bad teeth who probably overcharged her for the tire, and the forgetful Ms. Grace, and there was no reason to get Molly fired up and tearful again over something as simple as giving the dog bits of chicken. Keeping her mouth shut, Susan had finally relaxed while Molly worked on her math facts, tuning into _Cash Cab _and answering the questions under her breath.

When nine o'clock came, Susan was well-prepared to go to bed, telling Molly to pack up her things for tomorrow and get some water before heading upstairs. Though she knew her daughter had skipped her nightly bath, with Susan making a mental note to have Molly get up early to take a shower, Susan was having a hard time caring, her body too exhausted to focus on much else aside from hitting the sheets. True to form, as the two walked up the stairs, with Molly sipping her water, Susan listened to her daughter's wild imagination, this time only half-way tuning into the story Molly had heard from "a kid at school" about a water monster that came into little kids' bedrooms and snatched them from under the covers. Smirking at her daughter's frantic persistence that she sleep with the door open tonight, probably scaring herself with her own wild tale, Susan had waited for Molly to climb into bed, noticing that she was acting as though she honestly believed what she was saying rather than recognizing it as a fairy tale. As she went around shutting and latching the windows and closing the door to the en suite bathroom, Susan frowned, wondering if maybe her daughter was taking it too far.

Deciding that was a discussion for the morning, Susan waited for Molly to near the bed, noticing that she was more hesitant to do so. Keeping her eyes on the nightlight, Molly seemed rigid as she slipped under the covers with Mr. Bear, pulling the sheets up to her nose as though the bright blue comforter offered more protection than just against the chilly air. Chewing the inside of her lip for a moment, Susan patiently waited until Molly relaxed into the mattress, noticing that the effect the bed had on her was instantaneous. Grinning to herself, Susan bent forward to kiss her daughter's forehead as Molly's eyes fluttered shut, getting up and heading quietly for the door. Reaching for the handle, Susan made to shut it, but stopped a moment later, remembering that Molly had asked her to leave it open. Nodding to herself, Susan slipped out through the crack, seeing her shadow in the light that filtered in through the hall.

The house that surrounded them had once belonged to Susan's grandmother, an old Victorian property that had been bought in 1920 and kept in perfect condition during the time that Susan's mother had owned it. Growing up in the place, Susan had become accustomed to the creaks and squeaks that sounded in the quiet of the night, even ignoring them whenever the walls popped in the cold and the house settled in the summer. As time went on, when Susan had moved out back when she was twenty-three, she had begun to miss the midnight noises, becoming uneasy when her new apartment didn't offer the same sounds. When Susan had met Matthew, Molly's father, at twenty-five, and had Molly a year later, she had made a promise to herself to move into a house just like the old Victorian, one that offered the same cracks and snaps. Unfortunately, Susan had never been given the chance to find a duplicate, inheriting the real thing two years after Molly was born when Susan's mother had died.

The death had sent Susan into a whirlpool of emotions, from sadness to depression, eventually leading to her taking her frustration and despair out on Matthew. A week after Molly turned six, the man hadn't been able to take it anymore, leaving both of them with nothing more than the rest of the month's utilities and Molly's _Hobbit _book. Up until then, Susan had been a stay-at-home mother, not having to work ever since she had met Matthew, and foolishly neglecting to marry him because they were "contemporary" people, meaning that she had to find money fast or else her and her daughter would be without power and food by the end of the week. Becoming resolute, she had headed to every place nearby, eventually getting a lead at the temp agency she still worked for to this day. After three years there, Susan had gotten accustomed to switching jobs often, never getting bored, but was growing tired of the constant change. Though she only worked a few hours a day, only having to make enough to pay the bills and have a little left over, Susan wanted something invariable, something that wouldn't require her to have to reacquaint herself with her temporary boss every few weeks.

But that was a thought for later, and possibly one she was only having due to the fact that Sleazy McSleaze had been making suggestive comments throughout the day. As Susan stood out in the hallway before her daughter's room, listening for new creaks and squeaks, she still felt on-edge from having to sit so uneasily behind her desk, pulling her skirt down past her knees whenever the account man exited his office to talk to her, acting as though he didn't know why she was so uptight. Knocking Susan out of her thoughts, the sound of blankets shuffling behind her caused Susan to turn around. Glancing back into Molly's room, she could see that her daughter had turned over, the stuffed bear in her arms now wrapped tightly against her chest.

Smiling and deciding to head down the corridor into her own room, Susan made a straight line for the archway at the end of the hall, crossing through the open threshold as she pulled off her sweater. While she changed into her pajamas, still listening to the sounds of the house as it popped idly, Susan signed and tried to make a resolution to have tomorrow be a better day. Throwing her clothes into the hamper near the closet, she headed downstairs to shut off all the lights and lock the doors, walking into the kitchen to grab a snack before bed. Making a beeline for the fridge, Susan rounded the island in the middle of the room, stopping just beside the sink as her foot stepped in a puddle of cold water. Frowning, she looked down and prayed that Yellow hadn't peed in the house, sighing in relief when she saw that the liquid was clearly innocuous. Glancing around, Susan attempted to find the source of the small pool of water, noticing that the nearby faucet was off and the basin was dry, meaning that it couldn't be a splash from when Molly had gone to get a drink. Looking up, Susan let out a groan as her eyes fell on a yellowed patch in the ceiling.

_Great. Pipes are leaking_.

Trying to calculate which room was directly above where she was standing, and feeling freezing drops drip onto her face, Susan remembered that Molly's bathroom was overhead, meaning that either something had burst in the wall or the tub was overflowing. Searching for the phone book, Susan grabbed the landline off the counter and held it firmly in her hand while she opened each drawer in the island, trying to find whichever contained the outdated yellow pages she had kept there for the past two years, accidentally throwing out the new one whenever it appeared on her doorstep.

Finally finding it, Susan dropped the book onto the counter and flipped through it, focusing on the ads as she attempted to find the plumbing service she had used awhile back. Suddenly, as though to tear her mind away from what she was doing, the sound of something heavy being dropped upstairs caught Susan's attention, causing her to stop and let the page in front of her fall back in place. Putting the phone in its cradle, Susan headed for the stairs, immediately sensing that something was wrong. A second later, her sense was confirmed as the sound of Molly screaming rented the air.

Racing up the steps, Susan jumped over Yellow's bed from where he had repositioned it in the middle of the hallway and headed straight for Molly's door, noticing that it was now shut.

"Molly? Molly! Are you okay?"

Nothing answered except another scream, followed by, "Mommy!"

Trying the door handle, Susan heard nothing but the click of the lock on the other side as the knob shuffled in place. Pushing her body against the old, thick mahogany that separated her from her daughter, Susan attempted to force the door open, her thin, short frame only colliding roughly with the wood in a painful way. Nursing her shoulder, Susan pounded on the door with her free hand, the occasional stunted cry responding back. Not sure what to do, Susan backed up and rammed at the mahogany again—just as the yelling on the other side stopped.

Giving it her all one last time, Susan collapsed to her knees as the door flew open. Getting up, her eyes searched the room, seeing and hearing nothing. Flicking on the light beside her, Susan rounded Molly's bed, hoping to find her daughter huddled against the bottom of her mattress as she tried to fight off an imaginary nightmare—only for Susan to discover nothing but the hardwood floor and a discarded toy in her daughter's place. Stepping nearer to the headboard, Susan's heart began to beat quickly as she looked around, calling Molly's name frantically without a response.

_Maybe she's just playing a game._

"Molly? Molly! This isn't funny! Come out right this instant!"

However, nothing answered Susan back as she kept slowly prowling the room, looking for any sign of what had caused the screaming and where Molly might have run off to. Unfortunately, the only rely she received was the unsettling feeling that something had happened and Molly was gone. After a few more steps, that feeling was solidified as Susan's foot fell into another puddle, this one larger and seeming to flow in a stream to the bathroom. Beside it, sitting cast away with its head bitten off ferociously, was the teddy bear Molly had taken to bed with her.

Looking around one more time, panic set it, along with a darkening fear as Susan bent down to pick up the destroyed stuffed animal. "Molly!"


	2. Chapter 1

Available for download in PDF. I promise you that I don't have any viruses. I just **strongly recommend **it seeing as this was written in book format. Visit the Tumblr dedicated to this series, "11785", for details.

Or just read it here (:

ONE

Dwight Hall, Yale  
New Haven, Connecticut  
Thursday, October 5, 2006  
10:19 PM

**A**my Winchester glanced over her shoulder in the foggy bathroom mirror to look at the white scares permanently etched in her back running from one shoulder blade to the other. As her wet chestnut hair dripped dark brown over some of the pale lines, the hunter green towel tied around her chest covered others, making only the most prominent of the former gashes shine through in the overhead florescent light.

The scars were a lasting reminder of an incident that had taken place almost a month ago, an encounter that Amy would sooner forget than remember, a fight that had ended abruptly and bloody, with a double trip to the ER added in. Unfortunately, whether she liked it or not, the doctor who had tended to Amy in the hospital and later removed the fifty or so stitches that had been the result of a gruesome fight had told her that the slashes in her back were deep enough to cause permanent scarring. All the same, Dr. Guest had offered her a topical solution that might help the marks fade, but even after a week of application, it seemed as though the superficial reminders weren't going anywhere, along with the memory of what had caused them in the first place.

In a dorm room across campus, Amy had been thrown into a broken window full of jutting glass shards, a demon on top of her tearing up her skin as it took simple pleasure in making its victim squirm and scream. The attack had been one in a long line of others, all of which Amy would prefer to block out, each of them seeming more horrible than the one preceding it, and topping the disastrous summer away that Amy had had to endure the moment her biological father, John Winchester, had arrived on her doorstep toward the last days of May—the vacation between Amy's junior and senior years of college that she had once thought resembled Hell, an overstatement in comparison to the events on campus.

Ever since being back at Yale—following Amy storming off to get away from John after he revealed some shocking news, and some sort of unprovoked silent treatment back in Northbrook, Illinois with her adopted family—Amy had expected life to return to normal once school started up again, for classes to be as either educational or as boring as they had always been, for the first meeting between her and her new roommates to be as uncomfortable as possible, and for the housing situation to be a mess while the university attempted to accommodate all the seniors who were choosing to live on-campus rather than off. Instead, all she had come into contact with was chaos and hysteria when the night proceeding the first day of classes had ended with someone jumping from a fifth-floor window.

The days that trailed behind the event hadn't been any better, with morale only rising for the rest of the week when the death had become slowly forgotten and falling once again when a second jumper had been found in the courtyard not far from where Amy was now currently rooming in Dwight Hall, directly across from where the two casualties had taken place. However, unlike the first time, where she had barely known, Rachel Richardson, the first girl to take the swan dive, Amy had considered the second, Celia Brown, to be a good friend, someone she had previously bunked with back in her junior year at the university, and someone whom she doubted would be the type to commit suicide—as the losses were being ruled by the local police. As soon as she heard of Celia's death, Amy had been troubled by what had happened, running facts and statements and whatever else she could through her head as she reviewed reasons why Celia would jump—if she had at all. For a brief moment, Amy had been convinced that there had been a conspiracy under wraps at the school, with people being killed on campus and then turned to look self-inflicted. Ultimately, though, Amy quickly gave up on the endeavor, citing it as paranoia she had picked up while on the road with her biological father.

Unfortunately, as time went on, it appeared as though her initial instinct that the school was facing homicide rather than suicide had turned out to be true. While Amy and her other previous roommate and friend, Taylor Rosen, investigated the dorm in which Celia had either jumped or been shoved, and following a lead that had been provided by another friend and Amy's new neighbor in Northbrook, Bailey Yost—who claimed ghosts were behind the attacks rather than anything else—Taylor and Amy had looked into the declaration, lost as ever, just before there had been one more death on campus, one that had sent Amy over the edge: that of her current suitemate, Sarah Clarke. Racing across campus and up the stairs of Swing Hall, Amy had pushed open the door to reveal Bailey standing in the center of her dorm, black eyes staring at her like shining, laughing pits of tar. It was then that Amy discovered the truth about what was happening, that demons were behind the attacks instead of the spirits Amy and Taylor had been tricked into believing.

After a fight that had ended bloody and violent for Amy—with the demon slicing Amy apart with the broken glass of the window it had thrown Sarah out of—and had eventually knocked Taylor unconscious and into a coma, the violent creature had been exorcised by none other than John Winchester as he appeared in Amy's doorway, sending the thing back to Hell with some spiel of Latin Amy had never heard before. As she was about to thank him, or ask him what he was doing there or whether he had been following her, the man had vanished about as swiftly as he had come, sinking into the shadows moments before paramedics raced up the five flights of stairs and pulled Amy away from the scene. Trailing the stretcher that carted Taylor into an ambulance parked on the lawn—and avoiding questions being asked by the tall, thin guy who was holding a cloth to her mauled back to keep the skin in place—Amy had felt John's eyes on her from afar, as though he was willing her to keep her mouth shut when it came to the inquisitions. Taking his silent order, Amy had tried to peer through the surrounding blackness to find his muscular frame standing off to the side, only seeing nothing and becoming sidetracked as the ambulance prepared to take off.

But after Amy arrived at the hospital, receiving fifty stitches in her back and a blood test for any kind of disease she might have contracted from being shoved into the shards, it had been harder to avoid questioning, though she had somehow managed. As police officers and a Detective Wright scribbled down statements and pressed for details, with the latter coming back later to iron out some of her story, Amy had been more focused on finding out exactly what Bailey had been and whether or not Taylor was going to be okay. Pacing outside in the halls, Amy had searched online through her mobile browser for any news or information that could pertain to the demon who had seemingly possessed a poor girl from Alabama, finding that the thing had slaughtered the family of the real co-ed before heading out to Northbrook, Illinois to pretend to be Amy's new next-door neighbor—something that should have tipped her off in the first place since no one had ever moved out of Sunset Trail.

Coming upon not much else, Amy had quickly tossed aside the search, feeling more exhausted than she ever had in her life and wanting nothing more than to sleep. Grabbing a cup of coffee, she had waited for news that Taylor was awake, taking a seat outside and enduring Detective Wrights' second round of questioning before a nurse came to alleviate the worry Amy had been feeling. Heading up to see her friend prior to having to make the trek back to school, Amy had sat and talked with Taylor for a short while about what had happened before coming to the resolve that she never wanted to encounter something like that ever again, no matter what. Unfortunately, by the time she got back to campus, she discovered that John Winchester had had other plans for her, sneaking into her room while she was gone and planting a book on demons and archangels in her bed for what she guessed was his version of light reading material, possibly something he was trying to use to convince her to rejoin him on the road, though that seemed unlikely.

Setting the volume aside as soon as she found it, Amy had slept until the night following, dozing off the fatigue that seemed to come over her in heavy waves. For two days after that, she had spent hours upon hours cleaning up her former dorm suite, clearing out the glass and broken furniture that had been the byproduct of Sarah being killed and the fight Amy had endured. When the space was otherwise straightened, Amy had begun packing boxes to make the move into Taylor's suite in Dwight Hall, having to cart most of her belongings across campus on her own due to the fact that all of her friends were either dead or still in the hospital. Thankfully, after the second day of relocating, though breaks had to be taken to head to class, Taylor had been released from under the doctor's care, with both her and her parents helping Amy resituate her belongings. However, even after the following Friday morning came and went, with Amy having no lessons to attend due to a small friends-and-family-only remembrance ceremony being held in the University Church, she had spent time trying to decide what to do with the book John had given her, ultimately deciding to bury it in a pile of other tomes sitting in the living area of her new common room.

Unluckily, though, despite her decision to stay away from all things demon-like and odd, deeming them something she didn't want to be involved with, Taylor seemed to take the opposite stand, instead choosing to find the volume Amy had hid and engrossing herself in it. For the weeks after the incident at Swing Hall, Taylor had become obsessed with uncovering strange facts and learning information, sometimes even skipping school or disappearing entirely to dig up intel on whatever appeared weird. As Amy remained stuck in her busy schedule of lessons and drama rehearsals—auditions for _Barefoot in the Park_ coming and going with Amy landing the character of Corie Bratter, the lead—she sat idly by as her friend continued to dive deeper down the rabbit hole, sometimes listening whenever Taylor went on about things in the news that Amy "should be" paying attention to.

"Aims, you need to be listening to this. One demon exorcism does not protection against evil make, okay?" Taylor had repeated nearly a hundred times, attempting to either scare Amy into joining her behind the computer screen she was always sitting at, or to coerce her friend into heading out to investigate whatever oddity-of-the-day Taylor seemed to have stumbled upon.

Choosing rather to spend time in the library to keep away from the other girl's temporary insanity, reminding her of the time she had done the same to avoid Bailey Yost before she found out Bailey was a demon, Amy had taken up residence at a table near the back, remaining there from the moment her last class of the day ended to when the building closed. Though she was sure hiding was childish, Amy wanted to make it clear that she had no intention of delving into whatever underworld might be lurking out there, that all she wanted was to finish her senior year and prepare for graduate school. Unfortunately, as much as she didn't want to, it seemed the only way to ensure that was to keep her distance, with Taylor appearing to pick up the hint the less and less of Amy she saw.

However, there was only so much studying Amy could do. With her lines etched into her memory—along with a ton of other useless information about psychological profiles, the proper way to construct an "active statement" research paper, and whatever else Yale could possibly shove into her brain—Amy had come up short in discovering something else that would take up her time until Taylor stopped sharing the News of the Weird for good. Deciding to meet up with one of her other former roommates, one that she hadn't talked to much, Amy and Robin Lister had made a regular thing out of heading to the school gym a couple of nights a week. As the two ran on treadmills, with Amy discovering that she could last much longer at a high speed than her in-shape friend, and lifted weights, the pair had often stayed inside the recreation center past nine, sometimes going out for a smoothie after if Amy didn't feel the need to head back to her dorm for a bath, much like she had tonight.

Thankfully, after a successful three-mile run and a surprising bench-press that even astounded Robin—two-hundred and fifty pounds, unaided—Amy had returned to her room to find it empty, immediately heading for the shower and hoping that Taylor wouldn't slip into the suite while Amy relaxed under the hot water. As she washed her hair and shaved her legs, Amy could feel the steam ease her muscles, a tenseness that had previously overcome them while at the gym streaming away with the heat. Most days, especially after one of the exercise nights, Amy could feel a spike in her adrenaline that she attributed to the rush of endorphins, causing her body to feel shaky and uncertain after she raced on the treadmill. For some reason, over the past few months, that sensation had been more common than she cared to admit, seeming to become stronger as time went on. After awhile, Amy had learned to ignore it, swallowing it down with a gulp of Jamba Juice or a scalding bath that seemed to ebb it away.

Getting out of the shower, still with no sign of Taylor, Amy had taken to wiping the haze from the mirror to stare at the scars on her back, just like she had for the past few days. After rubbing an expensive version of Maderma onto her skin, she had hoped to see results in the bright white scores blazing against her suntanned skin, the color of both fading as fall began to take over as the predominate season. While the pale became paler and her bronzy glow dulled, Amy could still see the lines and small dots that were permanently marked in her skin from the demon's attack, the cream appearing to do nothing at all.

Sighing, Amy wrapped her towel tighter around her chest as she opened the door to the bathroom and headed for the ajar threshold across the common area, the same space Amy had chosen to occupy in the time she had stayed with a grieving Taylor after Celia's death a month ago. Though the suites in Dwight Hall, so named for their apartment-like accommodations, were originally meant for four people, two in each bedroom, the girls had been lucky enough to be placed alone—though Amy would do anything to have another roommate enter the equation to act as a temporary buffer between her and Taylor should she continue her frantic research rampage, if anything else.

Crossing the space, Amy shut and locked the door behind her, immediately opening the window to allow cold air in to fight off the residual heat of the shower. As the curtains blew in the soft wind, Amy changed into her pajamas and switched on the television, keeping the volume low in case Taylor came back and wanted to talk. Wrapping her hair up in her towel, Amy sat against the headboard and flipped through the channels, eventually stopping on _Lord of the Rings _on one of the few movie stations the school's cable network provided. Sitting rigidly, something she had gotten used to after having to keep her stitched-up back away from resting against things, Amy folded her legs in front of her and leaned forward, placing her hands on her ankles. Unfortunately, before she could get completely settled, the front door of the dorm room slammed shut, causing Amy to jump to her feet out of surprise.

"Amy?" Taylor's voice called as Amy groaned. "I know you're here!"

Bunching her jaw, Amy headed for the living area, slipping out of her bedroom as she looked to see what her roommate was doing. In Taylor's grasp was a stack of papers and a cell phone, a look of determination etched in her face as she typed into the mobile with one hand and placed the pages absently on the coffee table with another. Seeming to notice Amy out of the corner of her eye, Taylor snapped shut her phone and rolled her shoulders.

"I need your help with something."

"Tay—"

"I know, I know," Taylor sighed, "you don't want to be involved. I get it, alright? I've _really_ gotten it now that this is the first time I'm seeing you in two weeks." Pausing a moment, Amy frowned, suddenly feeling guilty before Taylor continued. "I just got a lead from a contact online who linked me to an article posted on the local newspaper's website. I just need you to read it and tell me what you think, that's all."

Furrowing her brow, Amy pursed her lips in thought. "_Just _read an article?"

As Taylor nodded, Amy was suddenly overcome with the sense that her friend had more in mind than asking for an opinion. Based on the expression on her face, the stack of papers she had come in with, and her phone gripped tightly in her hand, Amy had the feeling that Taylor was attempting to rope her into something, acknowledging the fact that her friend didn't want to be anywhere near anything strange and wanting to defy Amy's position. Staring at her for a moment, Amy chewed the inside of her cheek as Taylor flipped her cell open again, typing a message to some contact Taylor had doubtlessly met during her sudden escapades into the unknown.

Finally nodding, more curious than anything else, Amy reached forward. "Alright."

Smirking to herself, Taylor held out a ream of paper covered with text, some of it blurry in parts from where the fresh ink had been placed in a stack of others sheets. Scanning the write-up, Amy narrowed her eyes and glanced over at Taylor, stopping on the title of the article before reading the thing in full.

"'Watery Willow Mystery of Mother's Missing Child'? Seriously?" Amy scoffed. "I don't know how much more alliteration they could have fit in there."

"Just read it," Taylor scowled.

Grinning, Amy turned her attention back down to the snippet of words in front of her:

It was just past nine when Susan Walter, 35, noticed that something was odd. The roof was leaking, the house was creaking, and her daughter, Molly, had been telling tales again. But unlike the normal dangers of owning a house from the twenties, Ms. Walker encountered something homeowners insurance doesn't cover.

Disappearing in a puddle of water, Molly Walter, 9, was taken from her home early Thursday evening, leaving Susan disturbed and baffled. After calling the authorities and giving a statement to the police, Susan had remarked that her daughter had given her a warning about the thing that had taken her, a creature drenched in water, sounding straight from a horror movie.

"She said it comes in and takes children. And she was scared," Susan repeated to CBS 3 News. "At first, I didn't believe it, but judging by what I saw upstairs…"

But the tale, and the solution, ends there. As officers search Willow, Connecticut high and low for Molly Walter, there is only one hopeful person in the puddled confusion.

"We'll find her," Officer Richard Drive says. "I have no doubt in my mind."

Glancing up at Taylor, Amy frowned deeply, wondering who had written this article and if it was honestly published in a local paper. Through she knew of Willow, if only that it was a small town somewhere near West Hartford, Amy was curious as to whether or not they were in the habit of posting outlandish pieces. Seeming to catch onto her friend's clear skepticism, Taylor rolled her eyes and snatched the page from Amy, nearly giving the girl a paper cut in the process. Folding the article in half and placing it with the rest on the coffee table, Taylor crossed her arms as her phone vibrated in her hand, pushing the button on the side to silence it while she stood with an annoyed stare fixed on Amy.

"I can only guess what you're going to say."

Softening her eyes, Amy bunched her jaw. "Taylor…"

"Look, okay. I know with what happened with your dad and everything that you don't want to be involved in this crap, but you can't just ignore me like you have been just because I chose to do the right thing," Taylor snapped.

Wondering where her friend was coming from, Amy swallowed hard and took her stare off of Taylor, instead choosing to glance around. She could understand why Taylor was angry with her for ditching her for the library and the gym, especially since the two had become best friends in the time that they had known each other, but suddenly exploding on her was causing Amy to wonder what had happened and why she wanted Amy to read that article in the first place. While it was possible that Taylor was tired of looking into this supernatural thing alone, Taylor also knew that Amy didn't want any part of it. Why was she suddenly acting like Amy had left her out to dry?

As though picking up on Amy's thoughts, Taylor rolled her shoulders back. "I tried to give you space with this, to give you time to figure out that you're being selfish. Amy, you can't just sit around and be in plays and do your homework like you're a normal person. You were attacked by a _demon_, we both were, and yet I'm the only one who recognizes what that means—"

Narrowing her eyes, Amy frowned. "And what does that mean?"

"That we were brought into this! Amy, we can't just ignore what happened and act like we don't know what's behind the curtain anymore. If we know what's out there, we have to do something about it, we have to help people!"

Taking a step back, Amy swallowed hard in confusion, wondering how Taylor could have possibly arrived at that idea after only being knocked out by a creature that had been exorcised by Amy's biological father—Taylor hadn't even faced the thing. The fact that they knew certain beings existed didn't mean they had to go seek them out and kill them… did it? In all honesty, Amy had never thought of it before, instead focusing on the fact that she wanted to be far away from anything involving John Winchester and demons. But was she being selfish in thinking that she could just continue on being normal now that the thing was back downstairs and now that John was gone?

Tapping her fingers against her leg absently, Amy let out a short breath. "I need to think about this."

Crossing her arms, Taylor shook her head, disappointment obvious in her expression as though she had expected Amy to automatically agree to assist her with what she was no working on. "Fine. Whatever. Just don't take too long."


	3. Chapter 2

Available for download in PDF. I promise you that I don't have any viruses. I just **strongly recommend **it seeing as this was written in book format. Visit the Tumblr dedicated to this series, "11785", for details.

Or just read it here (:

TWO

Dwight Hall, Yale  
New Haven, Connecticut  
Friday, October 6, 2006  
8:19 AM

**T**aylor Rosen was beginning to get fed up with the casual way in which Amy was purposefully ignoring their responsibilities. At first, the hiding away and keeping her distance had been tolerable, leaving Taylor to research online and pick up a few books to read in the quiet of their abandoned suite, but now that something big had come up, something credible that gave her the feeling that they owed it to themselves to check it out, Taylor was becoming irritated with her friend, hoping against hope that Amy would turn herself around on the subject and make the right choice.

In all honesty, Taylor was beginning to get concerned about the fact that the other girl was choosing to refrain from helping people, causing her to wonder if maybe Amy cared more about herself than of those who needed some kind of supernatural aid. After the attack in the dorm room, and after Taylor had returned to campus to settle back into university life following her brief hospital stay, she had become more and more sure, however illogical, that the reason the demon had gone straight for them was to open their eyes and to pull back the curtain as to what was _really_ out there. For some reason, Taylor also had a feeling the creature had intentionally gone after Amy because the thing had expected her to know more than she obviously did, almost as though Bailey had though Amy's summer away had been less about sitting around poolside—which Taylor didn't believe in the slightest, no matter how many times Amy protested otherwise—and more about learning a few things from her father, since he clearly knew a great deal about what was festering down the rabbit hole.

But even after getting filled in on what had happened while she was unconscious, and about the information Amy pulled up on her cell phone while roaming the halls, Taylor could tell that Amy still hadn't come around to the idea that they were meant to do this now, that they had been pushed to the other side because a demon had caused them the cross the line. Instead, her friend had chosen to remain the college girl she had always been, blatantly ignoring the fact that there were things out there that went bump in the night and rather choosing to head to class and attend drama practice like everyone else on campus. Frankly, the thought made Taylor's blood boil. What could Amy be thinking? Was she really that selfish to put herself first instead of others who needed help?

Honestly, though, Taylor doubted that Amy was as self-centered as that. The girl, who had stayed in Taylor's suite and had offered to do her homework for her while Taylor was dealing with Celia's death, was nothing short of kind-hearted, causing her to wonder what had happened between John and Amy Winchester prior to the night he had swooped in and saved the day. So far, Taylor only knew a few things from the Internet conversations she had had with her friend during their school vacation, that Amy had met and talked with her biological father, but not much else had come to light between then and now. However, Taylor couldn't shake the feeling that something had gone down, something that was big enough to cause Amy to want to stay away from any and everything that reminded her of the man, no matter what it was.

Still, after a month of keeping her distance from learning anything about the seedy underworld that lived among the human population, Amy had yet to come around and shake off whatever resentment she had for her father, instead heading off to the gym with her other friend or hiding out in the library until it closed. Knowing that she had done the same with Bailey—hell, _both _of them had done the same with Bailey—Taylor could tell that Amy wasn't likely to make a one-eighty on the topic of demons, witches, and vampires any time soon, no matter which method Taylor used to try to convince her, newspaper article or otherwise.

However, Taylor wasn't finished with her endeavor yet. While Amy could be set in her ways, Taylor knew her friend as well, if not better, than she knew herself, and knew exactly which buttons to push in order to get the girl to choose her side. With Amy, appealing to the part of her that made her feel as though she was doing the right thing was always what caused her to change her mind, as well as the promise that no one would be hurt in the process. The girl, who valued school and safety rather than danger and intrigue, only needed to be nudged toward the thought that she would be saving people in need in order to get involved. Unfortunately, there seemed to be something stronger pulling Amy away from heading down the abnormal path Taylor was taking, almost as though a newfound stubbornness had kicked in somewhere inside of her that hadn't been present before.

During the few years that Taylor had known her friend, Amy had always been the quiet, studious one who preferred to stay indoors rather than head out to a party. Though that hadn't changed as of late, there was something else that was beginning to shift in the girl, almost like the tectonic plates inside of her were moving. Lately, she hadn't been sleeping, was rarely seen down at breakfast, and could hardly be found in her room. On top of that, the stitches that were being used to mend gashes as deep as the Grand Canyon had taken three weeks to heal instead of the five-or-more that Doctor Guest had estimated. While Taylor knew it could be considered paranoid to keep such a close eye on her roommate, something was different with her friend, whether the other girl knew it, or would admit it, or not.

Pacing for the majority of the night, and hoping that she would be confronted in the early hours of the morning by Amy telling her she wanted to help, Taylor watched the flickering light underneath the door of her friend's bedroom, the same light that told her the girl wasn't getting any sleep yet again. Though it was possible that she had zoned out with the television on, Taylor had a feeling Amy rarely did that, instead staying up watching infomercials to keep from letting her mind wander too far. As she walked the length of the living area multiple times, Taylor continued to watch the soft blue glow from inside the crack, wondering if it was ever going to extinguish.

As dawn came, with Amy still not getting up to talk, Taylor turned her thoughts inward, instead focusing on what she had learned in between the time of her hospital visit to now. It hadn't been much, mainly information through an Internet contact who provided her with links and resources that proved invaluable, but with classes and studying taking up most of her time, she had barely found the opportunity to fit in all the reading her e-mail friend required. While she knew it was hypocritical to get mad at Amy for choosing to study rather than to learn anything about the supernatural, Taylor was at least devoting some time to the cause as opposed to the other girl's wholehearted neglect to do so. However, what Taylor _had _discovered in between her English notes and Sociology take-home quizzes was something priceless and something she couldn't contain, sometimes sharing aloud, which could be what had sent her friend packing to the library in the first place.

According to books and websites, and even a guy who called himself nothing but A in his messages, creatures didn't attack without an agenda, nor did they believe in random chaos. With demons, they always had a plan; with witches, they were always searching for something that would benefit themselves; and with ghosts, they were always attempting to get revenge on whoever had wronged them in life. As she read about these things, and an infinite number more, she had learned one way or another how to kill them or how to put them to rest—though there was always more than one way to skin a cat. Spirits could be sprayed with salt, demons could be exorcised in a number of rituals, and witches were just humans with an extra set of abilities that could be stopped as such. Unfortunately, the more Taylor read on one creature, the less she knew about others, meaning that she knew a fair bit about the normal horror-story monsters, but not much of anything when it came to the broader spectrum of what walked on earth—such as whatever had taken Susan Walter's kid.

By the time the sun was fully up, Taylor was back in her room trying to reach out to A to see what he knew about water spirits or what this thing in Willow could be. Sending him a short e-mail, she waited for a response while she clicked around on the web, logging into her favorite websites to see what could be up. However, this was the first time Taylor was going to have to narrow the suspect list down on her own, meaning that message boards full of opinions and domains filled with scans of old folklore books weren't going to be of much help. Thinking back on the time last month where the demon, Bailey, had wrongfully pointed the girls toward spirits and the research she had done then, Taylor tried her previous method of simply using Google to get results. Typing in a few key words, Taylor waited for the page to load, only getting more copies of the article she had given Amy and a slight mention of something similar happening once in Ashland, Wisconsin. Ultimately, though, as she tried to dig up information on what had happened a few states over, she had gotten nothing but a sentence:

_Mark Willis is distraught to announce his son Peter has been taken from his room shortly after a bath Thursday night, leaving a puddle of water and only a footprint behind._

Deciding to look with more vigor the higher the sun rose in the sky, Taylor continued her search, occasionally checking her computer's inbox for new messages that might have been placed in the spam folder by accident. Clicking around on the new Macbook she had bought a couple of weeks ago, Taylor saved pages that might, but probably wouldn't, be useful and attempted to scan the snippets of text under links for what could lead her in the right direction. Thankfully, when seven in the morning came, and Amy's alarm could be heard loudly from the other room, the sound of bare footsteps on the wood flooring padded from behind her, causing Taylor to turn around.

"Hey," Amy whispered, her hair still wavy from the shower the night before and her sage green gaze rimmed with red from lack of sleep. "What are you doing?"

"Just looking into that article I gave you," Taylor answered, spinning her chair back toward her computer to keep from rolling her eyes. Based on the way her friend had frowned, Taylor could only guess that Amy had gotten nowhere in her decision. Giving the conversation a little push, Taylor bit her lip for a moment. "You going to class today?"

Pausing, Amy sighed from the doorway. "No. I don't think so. I'm, uh, I'm going with you… if you want."

Furrowing her brow and suppressing a grin, Taylor pivoted around to face the other girl, trying to look curious about the choice. It was clear that Amy was neither happy nor sad about what she had decided, instead staring straight at the computer screen with tired eyes. If she had to guess, Taylor would have to say that her roommate hadn't slept well in a week, though signs of it were only now beginning to show.

"What made you change your mind?" Taylor asked, shifting Amy's attention.

"A lot of things, I guess," Amy shrugged. "But something in my gut told me to go, so I am."

Smiling now, Taylor shut down her computer and got to her feet, suddenly elated with the fact that she was no longer alone in investigating the case, and wasn't about to head north to Willow by herself—not that doing things solo particularly bothered her. Racing for the archway, Taylor wrapped her friend in a tight hug, her cheek ramming into Amy's shoulder from the height difference. Letting her go, and massaging where her face was undoubtedly now bruised, Taylor headed for the front entrance of their suite, grabbing her coat off of a hook and pulling open the door.

"Listen, you take a shower and do whatever you do to get ready, okay? I'll bring us up some breakfast," Taylor grinned, turning back to glance at the other girl. "And if you need sleep, you can sleep in the car. I have to go rent one, anyway, so take your time."

Nodding slowly, Amy finally cracked a smile as Taylor disappeared, shutting the door behind her as she headed down the crowded hallway full of people heading to class. Around her, the busy corridor buzzed with drowsy conversation as girls met with one another for class or made plans for the upcoming weekend, but neither of those things bothered Taylor as she slid in and out of clusters of people. For some reason, the fact that she had turned Amy around on the topic of helping her caused Taylor to want to jump for joy, though she had no idea why. Oddly, the fact that her friend was coming brought comfort to her more than anything else, almost as if she felt like nothing bad could happen to her now that Amy was on her side. Whether or not that had stemmed from the fact that the girl and her father had saved her from a demon back in September or something else, Taylor didn't know. All she knew as that she had Amy Winchester on her side, and that honestly eased her mind.


	4. Chapter 3

Available for download in PDF. I promise you that I don't have any viruses. I just **strongly recommend **it seeing as this was written in book format. Visit the Tumblr dedicated to this series, "11785", for details.

Or just read it here (:

THREE

Walter Residence  
Willow, Connecticut  
Friday, October 6, 2006  
10:12 AM

**A**my could tell by the look on Taylor's face when she pulled up to the curb in a rented silver Lexus that her friend was excited to finally get the ball rolling. As they drove toward the highway, with the sounds of Taylor's pop music mix carrying throughout the inside of the vehicle, the obvious signs of thrill were further instilled. In the other girl's expression, a smile seemed permanently etched, giving way to Taylor's more animated appearance, making it seem almost as if Amy had lifted a burden from her friend's chest to free her from the weight she had been previously been carrying.

By the time the two reached Willow, Amy had gotten an ear-full of the information Taylor had been learning about in between her studying, information about exorcisms and ghost repellant and an Internet contact that only called himself A. As she listened, Amy tried to add into the conversation, only becoming lost as Taylor went over the steps to "solving a case", as she called it, that she had been filled in on by the aforementioned web-stranger. According to her, the two of them were headed to small-town Connecticut to talk to the mother of the missing child and to snoop through the bedroom Molly Walter had been taken from. Also according to her, the two of them had to come up with a convincing cover story, something that would gain them entrance into the house that was more plausible than claiming they were simply interested in helping.

"It's gotta be something cool, like cops or investigative journalists or something," Taylor grinned, tapping her fingers against the steering wheel in time with the music. "We can't just barge in and say, 'Hey, we're Yale students just looking for something to stick our noses in.' It won't work, especially if the woman is distraught."

Nodding, but not saying much else, Amy milled over possible aliases while looking out the window, suddenly wondering if that's what John had been doing with the FBI badge, as well as his sons doing the same. Amy remembered seeing similar credentials coming from Sam and Dean back when she had been trailing them on John's orders during the summer, but had immediately assumed she was caught in the middle of some sort of secret espionage rather than a couple of paranormal hunters trying to find out information for the "case" they were working. Thinking back on it, Amy supposed the guise made sense. There was hardly anyone in a police station that outranked a government official, except maybe the sergeant, and sending a call out to check for credibility seemed to be the last thing on anyone's mind whenever they were confronted with the shining white and blue FBI letters staring them in the face.

Deciding to pick something simple as Taylor pulled off of I-91, Amy glanced at her friend and filled her in on what she had chosen: newspaper reporters. Though she hated lying to someone about the real reason the two were trying to uncover facts about Susan Walter's missing daughter, Amy recalled her summer away and all the fibs she had told under the name of Kelly Taylor—a character she had summoned from one of her favorite television shows. Knowing that then wasn't much different from now, minus the fact that she never really talked to the men John had asked her to watch, Amy let out a deep breath before sharing the decision with Taylor, noticing that her friend had her focus turned elsewhere.

In front of them, the robust wooden sign welcoming them to Willow, Connecticut seemed larger than the town itself. As soon as Taylor turned onto the main road, aptly titled Main Street, the two could see nothing more than a couple of lanes surrounding a vast park that seemed to take up most of the area. Trees lined the section of town that was designated for the implanted greenery, fencing in what looked like a sloping lawn and a man-made pond that sat placidly in the dead center. Around the park, a few shops were stationed on the short stretch of Main, locally-owned businesses that appeared to be clothing boutiques and an ice cream parlor. On the three other sides of the square of foliage, houses sat in neat rows, all of them either Victorian or Colonial in design.

"Pretty sure like, twelve people live here," Amy grimaced.

"Yeah, tell me about it," Taylor sighed, pulling off of Main Street and heading for Magnolia Road on the other side of the park. "I knew it was a small town, but I didn't think it would be _this _small."

Pursing her lips, Amy waited for Taylor to pull up to the curb outside of a large, red Victorian home that seemed to be well-kept and recently painted. Along the front yard, rose bushes lined the rolling green grass divided by a stone walkway, reminding Amy of Yale in the spring. Getting out of the car as soon as Taylor killed the ignition, Amy suddenly felt nervous as she got to her feet. For some reason, now that she was confronted with the idea of having to question someone inside of their own house, the fear that they might be discovered as a frauds frightened her more than when she had been afraid of being unmasked by who she had been lead to believe to be two armed-and-dangerous criminals—two men she had eventual unveiled to be her… someone John had wanted to keep safe rather than arrest. Unfortunately, as the anxiety whispered in her ear, she had a feeling towns of this size held residents quicker to call the police should anything suspicious arise. Back in Northbrook, a place a little more wide-spread than Willow, Jennifer Forester was on a first-name basis with the sheriff, and even had him on speed dial, calling him whenever anyone that even looked likely to step on the grass was nearby. If Susan Walter discovered she was talking to a pair of Yale students rather than a couple of girls who worked for the _Hartford Sentinel_, then Amy had no doubt a cop would appear less than a minute later to haul them away.

Furrowing her brow, Amy tried to calm her nerves as she followed Taylor up to the front door, letting her friend knock as they waited. Glancing around, Amy could hear a dog barking somewhere in the back of the house, as well as see chew toys hidden in the bushes. Turning to look at Taylor as the sound of heeled shoes on hardwood came from behind the ornate wood in front of them, Amy noticed that her friend had whipped out a hand-held notepad with a pen poised over it. Biting her lip for not thinking of that, especially since she was the drama major and knew the importance of props, Amy rolled her eyes at herself before the door swung open to reveal a short, thin brunette with blotchy red skin and puffy cheeks, both obvious signs of crying.

"Can I help you with something?" Ms. Walter asked quickly, glancing up at Amy.

"Well, Ms. Walter, I was hoping so," Taylor said, stepping forward. "My name is Elizabeth Bennet and this is my friend and colleague, Charlotte Lucas. We work for the _Hartford Sentinel _and were hoping you would be able to grant us an interview with you about your daughter, Molly."

Frowning, Susan shook her head. "What for?"

"Well, Ms. Walter, we're hoping that by publishing an interview with you, word about your daughter would spread farther than just inside Willow. If she was taken by someone who traveled out of town, then it might be helpful to print a notification in a large publication."

"The police already put out an Amber Alert for her," Susan replied, still shaking her head. "I don't see how putting something in the paper can help any more, I'm sorry."

"Ms. Walter," Amy said, pulling Taylor back and softening her gaze, "we're not here to ask you anything too invasive or to worry you any more than you already are. I know how you must be feeling. It must really hurt not knowing where your child is. All we want to do is make more people aware of what happened in an attempt to bring Molly back home. If we ask you something too personal, you can tell us to leave and we'll pull the article. Does that sound alright?"

Pausing a moment, Susan Walter peered up at Amy behind her red-rimmed eyes for a long while, as though her stare was attempting to search the younger girl for a lie. After what felt like minutes, Susan finally nodded, stepping aside to allow the two to pass through the front door. As soon as they were inside, the dog that Amy had previous heard began to bark again, this time whining a little before growling and running away. Smirking to herself, Amy stopped in the foyer to allow Susan to lead them to where she would like to talk, holding back a second to glance at Taylor.

"I see all those acting classes paid off," Taylor whispered as they trailed behind the woman in front of them. "If I didn't know it, I would think you were channeling the softer side of Veronica Mars."

Grinning toward the floor before looking up, Amy noticed that Susan was directing them toward the kitchen, the big home surrounding them passing by with every open door. Glancing inside of each threshold as they passed, Amy could see that some of them were devoid of anything, as though the old Victorian contained too many rooms to fill. At the end of the long hallway the three were walking down, an expansive kitchen glared back at them through floor-to-ceiling windows, a staircase sitting between where the corridor ended and the kitchen began. Pointing them toward an island bar in the middle of the room, Amy and Taylor took a seat while Susan remained standing, a tumbler full of amber liquid sitting not too far from her hand. Furrowing her brow, Amy bit her lip.

"So, what questions do you want to ask me?" Susan started, taking a drink from the glass now grasped in her palm. "And I will take you up on that offer to throw you out if I don't like the questions."

Picking up on the fact that Susan wasn't fond of reporters being in her house, much less interviewing her, Amy placed a hand on Taylor's knee under the bar as though to warn her to keep her inquisitions kind rather than abrupt. Nodding in recognition of the touch, Taylor flipped back the cover of her notepad where Amy could see questions already scribbled down, almost as though she had been preparing for this during the time it took to rent a car and grab breakfast.

"You said Molly was taken from her bedroom, correct?" Taylor began, pausing to allow Susan to respond. "And you also said that you saw her disappear in a puddle of water? Is that true?"

"I didn't see her, no," Susan clarified. "Molly, my daughter, has a rather active imagination. Before I took her to bed, she was telling me a story—just like she does every night, usually some creation of her own—about a man drenched in water who grabs children from their beds. According to her, she heard it from someone at school, but that's what she claims about everything she says. When she told me, I thought it was just another tall tale, but I noticed she was acting a little different than with all of her other stories, as though she believed it instead of recognizing it was something she made up."

Frowning, Taylor scribbled down a note. "How was she acting?"

"Well, you know kids when they're scared. Pulling up the blankets, locking the windows, turning on the nightlight," Susan sighed. "I put her to bed and came down here. When I got here, I noticed the ceiling was leaking and tried to call a plumber to come check it out, and that's when I heard the screaming." Stopping a second, Susan closed her eyes. "It was Molly, and it wasn't the pretend screaming she usually yells out whenever she's playing with our dog. It was like someone was in there. I tried to help her, but the door was locked."

"Locked?" Amy piped up, furrowing her brow.

"Yeah, which is weird because Molly's door doesn't have a lock _on _it," Susan frowned, frustration setting in. "I kept pushing, but it wouldn't budge until it was too late. By the time the door finally opened, she was gone. But there was nothing there except for a puddle of water that trailed in from the bathroom. The windows were still shut and everything." Licking her lips as a tear threatened to fall down her cheek, Susan stopped a moment. "But that wasn't the only weird thing. My daughter's teddy bear, Mr. Bear, was torn to shreds, almost like something had eaten it."

Swallowing hard, Amy glanced at Taylor, who seemed neither bothered by the information nor shocked by the revelation. Instead, she continued to write down tidbits of the conversation into her notepad, almost as though she had expected Susan Walter to say what she had just explained. After a long minute, Taylor suddenly snapped her notebook shut to place in the purse swung over her shoulder, looking up at Susan with curious eyes that seemed to mirror how Amy felt inside.

"Do you mind if we take a look at your daughter's room?"

"I don't…" Susan trailed off, looking at Amy instead of Taylor again.

Giving the woman a small smile, Amy tried her best to be comforting. "It's okay. We promise not to do anything that would upset you. You can come up with us if you'd like, just to make sure we don't disturb any of Molly's things."

"No, no, that's okay," Susan frowned. "You can have five minutes, then I want you up and out of here, alright? And make sure no one else from your paper comes by to talk to me when you're back at your office. I understand you guys want to get the word out, but one reporter is enough."

Grinning despite the harshness of Susan's words, Amy nodded. "Okay. We will."

"Okay. Up the stairs, first door on the right."

Exchanging a glance with Taylor, Amy let her friend lead the way up the stairs, taking Susan's directions and finding Molly's flowery pink room right where the woman said it would be. Leaving the door open a crack, Amy pushed open the curtains while Taylor began to mill around, looking in and under everything in sight. Not sure what to do or how to help, Amy remained posted at the window, peering around while Taylor searched beneath the bed.

"I half-expect cartoon birds to start braiding your hair as soon as we walk outside," Taylor whispered while she opened one of the drawers of the small nightstand beside the bed. "I knew you were a softy, Aims, but I didn't think you were such an angel."

Frowning, Amy shrugged. "The woman's daughter is missing. We should be nice."

Shaking her head and smirking, Taylor turned toward the built-in bathroom, staring down at the hardwood floor as though looking for signs of the trail Susan had mentioned. Turning on a lamp to shed more light, Taylor stood back and bent in odd positions, as though trying to get a different angle on the glossy chestnut. "There's some warping here, like the water settled and no one wiped it up."

Remaining silent, Amy watched while her friend disappeared into the bathroom, only to come out a few seconds later. As she took in Taylor's practiced movements that made it seem as though she had been doing this her whole life, Amy wondered exactly what her friend had been doing in the month between the demon attack and now. So far, Amy only knew that Taylor had been looking for information online, but had the Internet contact taught her more than just where to go for a good read? Deciding to ask, Amy piped up.

"You're way too good for this to be your first time."

Laughing, Taylor glanced under the bed once again before getting to her feet. "When I was in high school, I wanted to major in criminal forensics instead of American English. I thought it would be cool to do things like on _CSI _or whatever."

"What changed your mind there?" Amy asked, grinning.

"It's all fun in theory," Taylor smirked. "My uncle's a police officer in Cicero, right? I guess my mom told him what I was looking to study at Yale and he took me on a ride-along with him back in like, March before I graduated. About half-way through the night, someone called in a murder and he had to go check it out. First sight of a dead body and I was so completely done. I think I threw up, too."

"That's lovely," Amy grimaced.

"Yeah, tell me about it," Taylor laughed. "Anyway, let's get out of here. I'm pretty sure Ms. Walter's waiting for us to leave."


	5. Chapter 4

Available for download in PDF. I promise you that I don't have any viruses. I just **strongly recommend **it seeing as this was written in book format. Visit the Tumblr dedicated to this series, "11785", for details.

Or just read it here (:

FOUR

West Willow Library  
Willow, Connecticut  
Friday, October 6, 2006  
3:23 PM

**T**aylor sighed loudly from across the table as Amy sifted through the pages of the thick volume in front of her, trying to decipher lines of text that had been written in a language that was neither in English or legible. Beside the book splayed before her, a translation dictionary sat open, one that would hopefully give meaning to the Spanish inscribed on the page.

For the past three hours, both Taylor and Amy had been trying to narrow down the number of possibilities as to what could be behind Molly Walter's attack, with Taylor immediately jumping on the water-drenched, child-snatching creature theory that Susan had mentioned during their interview. As Amy browsed aisles of folklore on her friend's behalf, not really sure what she was looking for and pulling down books at random, Taylor checked her phone for messages from across the room, sometimes verbally complaining that she had a feeling her e-mails weren't being forwarded to her mobile. Suggesting that she check the computer, Amy sat down and waited for Taylor to sign onto the station beside them before returning a second later, groaning audibly in disappointment.

Knowing that her friend was waiting for a reply from A, Amy began to feel impatient for her, wondering what the e-mail Taylor had sent had contained and whether or not this guy would get back to them with the right information. For some reason, Amy had a sense that the reply would enclose only tidbits of what they needed to know to figure out just what _kind _of demon or spirit or whatever they were dealing with—if they were even in the right ballpark, which chances were they weren't. According to various volumes, these in English, there were about ten different species of aquatic beings that went after children, some of them sprouting from folklore in Ireland and carrying across the pond. So far, she had read about rawheads, a creature that dwelled in damp places to attack kids who had been disobedient of their parents; cryptids, species that existed and defied scientific classification; and Leviathan, a serpent that dwelled in water and seemed to derive from Christian mythology. Unfortunately, none of those things appeared to match the description of something that could materialize inside of a locked room, then vanish to leave nothing behind but a puddle of liquid.

Deciding to crack open the more challenging of books, Amy had immediately begun to translate the first page of _Los Demonios y Los Monstruos del Mar_, which apparently meant Demons and Monsters of the Sea. As she worked line-by-line, scribbling down her botched rendition of what had been written onto a yellow legal pad Taylor had pulled out of her purse—which seemed to contain just as much stuff as the grandmother's bag from _Halloweentown_—Amy occasionally glanced up to check on her friend, noticing that the other girl was just as absorbed in another piece of text, this one more recent than Amy's.

"_Urban Legends and their Roots_?" Amy read aloud with a grin. "Interesting choice."

"It's proving to be," Taylor muttered before tearing her eyes away from what she was skimming. "Did you know that there's a video tape that kills you if you watch it? It's like _The Ring _in real life. Maybe that's where they got their inspiration for that movie."

Smirking to herself, Amy shook her head before turning back to her work, wondering if Taylor was truly buying into everything that was scrawled in that book. While she was sure it was better to believe it rather than attempt to disprove it, especially if whatever Taylor was reading about turned out to be real, Amy wasn't so sure about VHS murders. Kicking the thought aside, Amy continued to finish the first page of what she was transcribing, finally coming to the end and reading it aloud:

"_Of the many creatures of the deep, there lives one that dwells in shadows and attacks only in the night. In this book, such a being is discussed, as well as many others that are like it, though none are as horrible as those that dwell beneath the earth. Contained in each chapter is information pertaining to every sea-dweller known to man, and some not known to science. Whether alien, amphibian, or otherwise, those mentioned following this page are sure to shock and alarm."_

Glancing up, Amy tried to hold back a groan while Taylor grinned, obviously finding enjoyment in the fact that her friend had worked for an hour on translating nothing but the foreword. Deciding to try to find mention of something familiar in one of the following pages, Amy thumbed through them, stopping every now and again whenever she stumbled across _los niños pequeños_, which she knew was Spanish for "little children". Ultimately, though, the more she tried to mentally translate the context surrounding the words she understood, thanks for a brief stint of Spanish class at St. Mary's in Northbrook, the more a headache began to form, causing Amy to want to take a break.

Placing her pen in the spine of the book to mark where she had left off, Amy sat up straighter to look at Taylor, noticing that her friend was staring intently at her phone for what seemed like the hundredth time. Knowing that asking if A had gotten back to her friend yet was useless, Amy remained quiet as she massaged her temples and closed her eyes, feeling Taylor's gaze on her after a long moment.

"Are you okay?"

"Yeah, fine," Amy replied, not bothering to return the stare.

Dropping the subject, the sound of pages cracking open again came from the other side of the table as Taylor continued reading, obviously more engrossed in the words in front of her than anything else. Keeping her eyes shut, Amy tried to stare into the blackness of the back of her lids, something that usually helped her headaches fade. Instead, all she felt was the pounding growing the more she kneaded her forehead, as though the motion was causing a bigger boom inside of her head. Deciding to give up on easing the throbbing pain, Amy opened her eyes and looking around the library, noticing that the group of people that had been sitting at a table nearby had left.

Suddenly, the sound of Taylor's phone chiming once echoed throughout the nearly-empty building, causing the four people within earshot to turn around and glare angrily at the abrupt noise. Ignoring them, Taylor eagerly flipped open the mobile to read the message contained on the screen, frowning deeply as her eyes passed over the contents more than once. Turning it around for Amy to see, Taylor held the phone out while she scanned the text, finding nothing but a book title underneath a pair of e-mail addresses.

From: miles_roadhouse

To:

_Els Dimonis Mortals D'aigua _by Agustí Alexandre

Forwarded to Mobile, 3:20 PM

Furrowing her brow, Amy glanced at Taylor as her friend snapped the phone shut, looking disappointed that her contact hadn't given her more information than that. Deciding to help alleviate the dissatisfaction, Amy began to search through the titles of the volumes she had retrieved from the shelves, hoping to find the one that had been mentioned. Unfortunately, after reading five different front covers, none of them contained the foreign language that had been sent Taylor's way. Getting to her feet, Amy watched as Taylor flipped open the phone again and headed for the stacks containing folklore, disappearing down the aisle and leaving Amy to continue with her translation of _Los Demonios y Los Monstruos del Mar. _

After a long moment, Taylor returned looking disheartened, slumping in her chair and shoving her phone into her pocket as though to signal that she was through checking it. Shooting her friend an encouraging look, Amy pushed the Spanish book away and placed it on the pile beside her, wrapping up her notes and sliding the legal pad back over to Taylor. Not seeming to care that something had been shoved in front of her and instead choosing to stare at it, Amy bit her lip, wondering why her friend was so crestfallen. This A guy was nothing but a web contact who had, according to Taylor, only given small snippets of information and links as to where to find the best intel and not much else. Hoping that he would come through with more than that, that someone from behind a computer screen was going to help and point out where to go, was foolish for her friend to count on. Still, Amy felt bad for Taylor, who seemed enthusiastic to throw herself into this "case", even if she was a little misguided and overly expectant.

"Maybe the Yale library will have it," Amy suggested quietly, leaning forward as she prepared to take the books she had pulled off the shelves back to where she had found them. "That place has literally everything you could want to read. This is just some small-town joint. Maybe you've been given more of a lead than you think you have."

Nodding slowly, Taylor placed the notepad Amy had put in front of her into her purse and rooted around for her keys, standing up a moment later when she had found them. Handing the clinking metal to Amy, Taylor absently pulled her phone out again to read the message, seemingly becoming obsessed with taking in the singular sentence the forwarded e-mail contained. Snatching the keys, Amy lead the way out of the library, directing them toward the silver Lexus that was sitting in a metered stall right outside of the front doors. Getting behind the wheel, Amy pursed her lips as she waited for Taylor to get in, suddenly remembering that she hadn't driven in quite some time. Trying to recall the last occasion she had been in the driver's seat, Amy tapped her fingers against the gearshift for a moment, thinking that it couldn't have been any sooner than spring break when she had navigated their way to New York City. All summer, she had sat shotgun with John, and hadn't had anywhere to go once she had returned home.

Chewing the inside of her cheek, Amy started the car, wondering if it was possible to forget how to drive. Thankfully, right at the moment she shifted gears, her thoughts were eased as she pulled away from the curb and pointed them toward the freeway.


	6. Chapter 5

Available for download in PDF. I promise you that I don't have any viruses. I just **strongly recommend **it seeing as this was written in book format. Visit the Tumblr dedicated to this series, "11785", for details.

Or just read it here (:

FIVE

Hollbrook Residence  
Willow, Connecticut  
Friday, October 6, 2006  
9:33 PM

**D**avid Hollbrook didn't know which was more of a battle: his years spent in Vietnam or the time it took to get his daughter, Natalie, to bed. While the former contained dodging bullets and racing through a tropical jungle, the latter entailed having to chase down an excitable nine-year-old who seemed to have more hiding spots inside the house than the Vietcong had in the marshes of Vinh Lộc.

As an injured war veteran, a man who had been shot in battle, David had a difficult time tracking down Natalie inside their three-thousand-square-foot Colonial home—which had been bought back when Natalie's mother, Natasha, was still alive and the two had been planning on more kids to fill the space. But with an injured leg that had to be fused together at the ankle after a shotgun slug had hit him just below the shin, David often had to hobble after his daughter with the cane he had to use to walk—and even though his daughter knew of his handicap, she didn't make it any easier on him.

Running up the stairs, down the stairs, into the den, into the spare bedroom, around the kitchen, into the backyard, and finally to one of her favorite alcoves, Natalie would usually lodge herself somewhere David had a hard time reaching, even on a good day. Sometimes it was the crook of a tall tree, or a cabinet hidden somewhere in the wall leading to the attic, or, most likely, inside the doghouse. While the Hollbrooks hadn't had a pet in quite some time, David had kept it there after both Natasha and Scooter, their aged German Sheppard, had passed away—though his intentions had been to keep the memory alive rather than allow Natalie somewhere else to burrow.

However, Natalie always knew to come when David called in the tone he used to let her know that if she wasn't upstairs in less than five minutes she would be grounded, with her more often than not racing inside from her cubby and jumping in bed dirtier than before she had taken a bath. Usually choosing to pick his battles wisely, David would always forgo the argument that Natalie had to get in the tub again, instead knowing that he could coax her into doing so while she was half-asleep in the morning. By then, at least David would have gotten some rest and gained enough energy to deal with his over-enthusiastic daughter.

But as night came on the horizon at the end of the week, with no school the next two days, David often allowed Natalie half an hour extra to tinker outside. As dusked turned to dark, Natalie would still continue to play in the backyard with the other children in the neighborhood until David came out to break them up. In that time, while the kids horsed around and screamed their lungs out, David would sit comfortably in the Laz-E-Boy with a book placed firmly in hand, trying to remember where he had last left off as he listened to the loud laughing taking place outside.

Unfortunately, tonight seemed different than the weekends before, almost as though every child and parent who had heard the news, which was just about everyone, had decided to keep their doors and windows locked to hold their kids safely inside. Though David, one of the only ex-soldiers who lived in Willow, knew that hiding out did nothing but prolong the inevitable, especially if the enemy was coming straight for the person in question, he couldn't help but oblige the unsaid curfew that had fallen over the town—and it seemed as though Natalie was just as eager to remain indoors. Coloring quietly at the table, Natalie stared intently at the outlines in front of her while David took up residence in his chair, relaxing his cane against the end table situated between where he sat and the couch facing the television. The furniture had been Natasha's choosing, a style that had been in when she had died of breast cancer back in 2001, but now seemed dated with its white leather against the sunburst orange walls. Though David had thought it as an eyesore as soon as he saw it the first time, he couldn't bear to part with it now, especially since Natasha had been so excited to show him what she had learned from HGTV about decorating in contrasts and differences.

Sitting back in his recliner while the clock ticked loudly, David picked up his book and bid his time until half-past-nine chimed from the mantle. When the hour finally came, and just as he was about to engross himself in the finer details of Major Roger Bellman getting captured by German enemies in 1943 Tunisia in the novel he had been trying to finish reading over the past month, David kicked down the recliner with his good leg and placed the book aside, getting to his feet unsteadily as he grasped for his cane. By the time he reached Natalie's coloring station, at which she had been working relentlessly for the past few hours, David was more than ready to go to bed as soon as he took his nightly medication.

Thankfully, Natalie didn't seem inclined to argue with him, instead dropping the crayon that had been in her grasp the moment her father reached her and pushing aside her work. Letting it be in case she wanted to pick it up again tomorrow, David turned away from the table she had been sitting at and held out a hand. Grabbing it with her small fingers, Natalie wrapped her digits around David's thumb as they headed up the stairs, a quiet filling the house that seemed eerie. Usually at this time of night, Natalie would be attempting to convince him to let her stay up another half an hour, especially on weekends. According to her, there was "good stuff" on television after nine, things that she wanted to watch when they were on instead of having to fast-forward though the tape David often made of the kids shows that played during the late hours. Though, for purely selfish reasons, he preferred that his daughter watch _Zoey 101_ and _Are You Afraid of the Dark? _while he was there to discretion it and to keep her occupied during the day, David also knew that nine-thirty was somewhat early for a nine-year-old to go to bed, especially one with so much energy.

However, tonight Natalie seemed intent on keeping quiet and following orders, heading straight to her room and climbing under the covers without a debate. Watching her, David couldn't help but wonder if the story of Molly Walter had scared Natalie more than she was willing to share. As soon as he had heard what had happened, and as soon as he found out that Molly had been in his daughter's third grade class, David had sat Natalie down to talk about it, not getting much of a response in return to his questions. While the school had kept quiet and continued as normal the day following the disappearance, though most people knew that if a child wasn't found in the first forty-eight hours it was a lost cause, West Hartford Elementary had released the students at noon rather than three, figuring it would give the parents time to discuss the events with the kids who were more verbally curious.

When he had picked her up from school, Natalie hadn't said much of anything aside from the fact that she wanted to go to the Connecticut Golf Land & Games in Vernon. Taking it as an opportunity to distract her enough to get her to talk, David had driven them to the family fun park and the two had stayed for a few hours. Unfortunately, after two rounds of golf and a few rounds of bumper cars, Natalie had yet to share anything that was on her mind, only focusing on the fun of the games and jumping around excitedly while they waited in line for their turn. Giving up on it altogether, David had turned his thoughts elsewhere, figuring Natalie would tell him if something was wrong when it came down to it.

By the time they got back to Willow, the fun of miniature golf had worn off, only to be replaced with quiet while Natalie finished the homework she had been given to do over the weekend, then turned to coloring. Thinking nothing of it aside from the fact that his daughter had worn herself out at Golf Land, David was eager to get her to bed, equally tired from having to chase her down all across a small amusement park. Glad that she was obeying rather than defying him, David tucked his daughter in and turned out the lights. Standing in the doorway for a moment, David watched as Natalie almost immediately fell asleep, turning onto her side and tucking herself into a ball under the covers.

"Goodnight, Nat," David whispered as he shut the door behind him.

Heading down the stairs, David made his rounds about the house, locking the doors and windows and shutting off any lights that might have been left on. Coming to the living room he had just abandoned, David reached for the lamp beside his easy chair before turning to flip off the one positioned over Natalie's coloring pages. As he neared her work station, David bunched his jaw as he looked down at the prints he had been certain his daughter had been filling in with crayon, only to see that she had been drawing her own pictures. Picking them up, David frowned deeply at the child-like sketch of a man made entirely of wavering blue standing next to a bed. Wondering if this was the story that was going around school about what had happened to Molly Walter, David held the picture in his free hand as he hobbled up the stairs, intent on asking Natalie about it before she drifted too far into dreamland.

Reaching the landing, David nearly slipped outside of Natalie's door, the hardwood floor suddenly slick with something. Taking a step back, David flipped on the hall light closest to him to see that a puddle of water was slowly streaming out of his daughter's room, looking as though she had spilled something underneath the crack in the frame. Deciding to get something to wipe it up before the floor could warp, David headed for the cabinet nearest him and grabbed the thickest towel he could find, using his good leg and his cane to sop up the water and hanging the towel over the banister of the stairs.

Unfortunately, before he could turn around, David felt the water around his shoes again, this time in a heavier stream than before. Furrowing his brow, he watched as the flow washed past his feet and toward the railing, dripping down over the side and falling to the first floor of the house. Dropping the towel at the edge to keep any more from going over, David limped toward the door, curious as to what was going on. It was possible, though highly unlikely, that Natalie had decided to take a bath before going to bed, hopping out from under the covers to crank up the shower, but that would have made enough noise to carry throughout the house, nor overflowed as quickly as the trickle had appeared. Wondering if there was a leak somewhere, David looked up at the ceiling, but his attention was abruptly torn away.

Suddenly, the sound of screaming came from behind Natalie's door, sending David into high alert as he twisted the knob. Discovering that the handle was stuck, not budging even the slightest, David rammed his shoulder into the wood as Natalie cried for help again, sounding strained as though something was holding her by the throat. Running as fast as he could with a bum leg, David threw his whole weight into the thick chestnut, getting him nothing but a hurt shoulder. Trying again and again, nothing happened, causing David's heart to hammer loudly in his chest while Natalie shrieked once more.

Heading for the room next to hers, and knowing that the back balcony separated the two rooms by only a few inches of space, David slipped out the sliding glass doors just as another scream rented the air. Sensing the urgency, and remembering hearing similar sounds of terror in Vietnam, though none of them hitting as close to home as this, David did the best he could to jump to the terrace of Natalie's bedroom, landing shakily and nearly falling to the floor. Glancing back at his forgone cane sitting against the railing of the other platform, David held steadily to the wall beside the window as he looked in, narrowing his eyes to see through the black as he tried to find where his daughter could have gone.

By now, the crying had stopped, leaving an eerie stillness behind. David's heart remained pounding in his chest as he tried to keep a cool head, searching the area for signs of struggle or where whoever was clearly in their house had gone. Deciding that it was safe enough to risk slipping into the bedroom, especially if Natalie was safely hidden somewhere under the bed as he hoped she was, David cracked open the window and shrugged his way in, falling flat on his face the moment he got inside. As soon as his cheek hit the dark wood under him, David noticed that the ground was soaking wet, as though a pipe had burst and had flooded only the area beneath the sill. Getting up and wiping his face with his sleeve, David began to panic again, noticing that the room was more scattered than he had initially noticed. The bed was just as sopped, with the comforters pulled roughly aside and thrown onto the other end of the bed. Blood from a cut sat bright red against the white footboard, while one of her socks rested damp on the floor near the edge of the mattress.

"Natalie? Nat?" David asked, hobbling over to the en suite bathroom door. "Natty?"

Swallowing hard, David felt himself begin to hyperventilate as he stood still, grasping the wall for support as he looked around. If it wasn't for his damn leg, he would have been able to save her sooner, he could have been able to scale the balcony without making noise or being noticed, and would have been able to sneak up on her attacker. But he had been sloppy because he was injured, and now she was gone. Panicking in a way that would have gotten him reprimanded at boot camp back in 1971, David reached for Natalie's pink-and-yellow telephone and dialed the police.


	7. Chapter 6

Available for download in PDF. I promise you that I don't have any viruses. I just **strongly recommend **it seeing as this was written in book format. Visit the Tumblr dedicated to this series, "11785", for details.

Or just read it here (:

SIX

Theology Department, Yale  
New Haven, Connecticut  
Saturday, October 7, 2006  
6:18 AM

**T**aylor had sat slumped in her chair for the majority of the night, disappointed in the lead her Internet contact had given her and the result it had wielded. For the two hours after returning to school, both she and Amy had worked shoulder-to-shoulder in the Yale library, looking for the book title A had sent her way. Following that, the girls had spent another hour in yet another library, searching endlessly for _Els Dimonis Mortals D'aigua_. Finally, after what felt like a year, Amy had finally stumbled upon the thick volume, discovering it lodged in the foreign language section rather than folklore.

Unfortunately, as soon as they found it, there was no way to read it. With no clue as to what language it was written in, and with no one around to ask seeing as the New Haven Public Library was shutting down for the night, Taylor had become just as disheartened holding the weighty tome in her hand as she had been upon learning the expansive Yale collection hadn't contained what she was looking for. Without anyone that could translate it, they were back at square one again.

Spending hours upon hours online and watching the sky grow darker from her bedroom window, Taylor had tried every language site she could find in order to transcribe the book into English. When Latin, Italian, Spanish, and French came up with nothing, she had decided to forgo the effort and search the title via web for clues. Ultimately, though, all she got was a mixture of words she didn't understand, none of them pertaining to what she was looking for. Giving up on the thing entirely, and figuring A had either mixed up his e-mails or was too busy to give her a solid answer as to what she was dealing with, Taylor shot him another message near midnight, hoping to hear back from him sooner rather than later.

As the night wore on, with Amy sitting in the common room trying to make up the work she had missed during the day, Taylor had begun to get restless, deciding to take a walk around school rather than sit still. Making the trek across the courtyard of Old Campus and heading toward Chapel Street, Taylor cleared her mind as she strolled past the dark businesses and empty sidewalk cafés. In all honesty, she hated being stuck in one spot, in the middle of a problem she couldn't solve, and was beginning to get irritated with Amy for choosing to do her homework rather than help with the search.

After coming back from the library, most likely figuring that her job was done, Amy had taken a seat on the couch in the living area and had immediately buried herself under a pile of assignments that were undoubtedly not due for another month. From where Taylor's room looked out, she could see her friend hunched over a script and a psychology book, neither of them useful as to what they were now working on. During the drive back to New Haven, Taylor had overheard Amy apologizing profusely to Professor Emerson, her drama director, over the phone, claiming that she had missed the "second day of blocking", whatever the hell that meant, for personal reasons. Following a long lecture from the other end of the line, Taylor could hear the man recede his statement that Amy was booted from the cast for missing rehearsal, instead changing his tune to allowing her back in on the condition that she didn't miss another. Ecstatic, Amy had hung up and sped faster toward school, probably overly-excited to get back to memorizing her lines.

Rolling her eyes as she continued to walk, Taylor headed for the Dunkin' Donuts on the corner of Chapel and Temple, noticing that the place was open despite the rest of the deserted street. Slipping inside for a cup of coffee, the small building immediately smelled of baked goods and freshly-roasted beans, causing Taylor to calm down a little at the aroma. For some reason, she was beginning to feel high-strung about the case she was working, blaming her friend for the lack of results, and getting hardly any sleep. Ever since she had been clued in about what was happening in Willow, Taylor had neglected to doze off, instead electing to stay awake in hopes of some new piece of information coming to light in the wee hours of the morning.

Taking a seat two tables down from a pair of male students she remembered seeing on campus before, Taylor sipped her caramel latte and stared out at the wall, tiredness crowding her senses as she looked into the glaring white. Resting her head on her hands, Taylor kept her gaze fixed on the poster of a large orange cup of coffee behind the register, listening to the students as they both sat behind laptops, clicking away. It was clear that they had midterm anticipation fever like everyone else at Yale seemed to have, Amy included, and were burning the midnight oil trying to organize the notes that sat on the tabletop beside their computers. Wondering if maybe she was the one who was crazy rather than her friend, deciding to chase creatures instead of caring about school, Taylor listened to their rabid typing and paper shuffling, thinking maybe Amy wasn't as irritating as she thought. For the past three years she had attended the university, Taylor would have been right there with them in the libraries and in lecture halls, hoarding notes as though they were likely to save her life. Now, however, Taylor was choosing to follow a new kind of academic pursuit, learning about things that were seen but not seen and heard by not heard.

Kicking the thought away as the guys behind her started talking, Taylor took a sip of coffee and swallowed hard as she listened to their conversation.

"Dude, did you hear about that thing with those kids near Hartford? Weird, right?"

"Definitely weird."

"Yeah, man. I was taking a break right now and checking the news. Here, I'll instant message you the link. If you thought the first one was strange, this one definitely chocks it up to ab_normal_. Apparently the dad's going friggen nuts and being hauled off to that crazy ward, Arkham, in Norwich for claiming his daughter drew the thing that killed her or whatever."

Sitting up straight while the discussion died down, Taylor turned around to face them, noticing that one of the two had already been watching her. Furrowing her brow, she cleared her throat to get their attention, seeing the article that was being talked over prominently displayed on the screen behind one of the two. Asking them to forward her the site they were reading, and getting an overly-enthusiastic smile as she scribbled down her e-mail address, Taylor waited for the sent confirmation before picking up her coffee and heading back to her suite in Dwight Hall.

By the time she got there, she found Amy up and pacing the room, seeming just as restless as Taylor had been prior to heading out for a walk. Ignoring her friend as Amy attempted to shake off whatever energy might have accumulated from sitting still for so long, Taylor made a beeline straight for her Macbook, starting it up and finding an e-mail from Joseph Brisoski sitting in her inbox. Clicking it and opening the link, Taylor waited for the page to load completely before reading the article, finding it exactly as the guy had said. According to the _Hartford Sentinel_, David Hollbrook's daughter Natalie had been attacked just after nine-thirty at night and had disappeared just like Molly Walter before her. However, unlike Susan Walter's story, David Hollbrook claimed to the newspaper to have seen the thing that had taken Natalie in a drawing his daughter had been working on for most of the night. Scrolling down to see a scan of the image, Taylor saw a creature scribbled entirely in blue standing in the middle of a white page.

"Hey, so, I have an idea," Amy said suddenly, appearing in the doorway just after dawn. "I think I know who we can talk to about that book we have. You know Professor McDowell in the theology department? Word of mouth says the guy has some sort of vested interest in all things supernatural. Could be worth a shot."

Frowning and furrowing her brow, Taylor turned around in her chair to take her eyes away from the screen she had been staring at for the greater part of the night. "Who told you that?"

"Robin's a theology major. She called while you were gone."

Pursing her lips, Taylor shook her head at the suggestion, knowing better now than to trust anyone who gave them ideas as to what their next step should be. The last time they had listened to someone else, the person had wound up being a demon trying to lead them in the wrong direction. Taking Robin's advice that they talk to one of the professors might be a similar mistake, especially if the girl wound up not being who she said she was in the end. Telling Amy as much, the girl sighed and reached up to grab a lock of her hair, twisting it in her fingers as she stood in the doorway, gazed fixed on the drawing Taylor had been looking at for the past few hours.

"What's that?"

"Apparently there was another attack in Willow last night," Taylor shrugged. "I've been staring at it for the longest time, but I can't really figure out what it is. David Hollbrook's daughter drew it. She's like, nine years old or something like that."

Pushing off of the jamb she had been leaning against, Amy neared the computer screen, narrowing her eyes to get a better look at the sketch. After a long moment, she stepped back, frowning. "Huh."

"What?"

"It's just that, uh… We've been looking into creatures that _come_ from water, right?" Amy said standing up straighter. "But what if this one is _made _of water? That would explain the blue crayon. Then again, it's just a kid's drawing, so who's to say it's accurate."

Smirking to herself, Taylor turned toward the monitor of her laptop, suddenly remembering why she was glad Amy was helping her with this case. For some reason, after staring at the thing for hours, Taylor hadn't come to the conclusion that the blue meant anything other than Natalie Hollbrook had run out of peach-colored crayon. Her friend, on the other hand, seemed to have figured out with the kid meant in half a minute flat. Grinning wider, Taylor decided to concede to Amy's suggestion that they talk to Professor McDowell, getting up from her chair and glancing at the clock just as six in the morning came and went.

"You think he'll be in his office?" Taylor asked as she pulled her hair into a ponytail.

"Probably. I mean, his first class is at seven according to his webpage."

Nodding and grabbing her purse, Taylor followed Amy out of their dorm and down to the first floor of Dwight Hall, making their way back onto Chapel Street to find their rented Lexus parked at the curb to take them nearly a mile up to Prospect and Division Street. Though they both knew it was lazy of them to drive such a short distance, they had less than an hour to get to Professor McDowell's office at the School of Divinity near the farthest corner of the Yale campus, and wasting time walking would be more of a hindrance than a help. Getting behind the wheel, Taylor navigated them to their destination, stopping in the empty student lot and hoping that no one was checking for parking passes so early in the morning. Hopping out, the two hurried toward the group of one-story brick buildings sitting on its own block, the edifices making up a giant square that encompassed a small chapel.

Stopping to look at the map detailing where to go, Taylor lead the way toward the first structure on the left, finding a door with the nameplate signaling the office of Professor McDowell at the very end. Knocking quietly at first, then louder a second time, Taylor and Amy stood patiently as they watched the shining wood in front of them to swing open, both girls rocking on their heels as they waited. After a long moment, the entrance finally cracked, revealing a short, mousy man with hair still wet and neatly combed from his morning shower.

"Ah, Miss Winchester, Miss Rosen! I was told by Miss Lister that you were coming."

Stepping aside to allow them space to pass, Taylor and Amy entered the room, both of them remaining quietly near the back until Professor McDowell offered them a chair. Taking a seat, Taylor watched as Amy crossed her legs and rung her hands nervously in her lap, becoming irritated at her friend's sudden shyness whenever it came to dealing with unfamiliar people. For some reason, she had always thought theatre students were more outgoing than Amy, who seemed to clam up whenever she was out of her comfort zone. Shrugging it off for now, Taylor turned her attention toward the professor and his very small, wood-paneled office, wondering what he could say that would be helpful.

"Now, I hear you have a book that you've been having difficulty reading. The, excuse my accent, _Els Dimonis Mortals D'aigua_, correct?" Professor McDowell began, botching the title. "Do you happen to have it with you?"

Furrowing her brow, Taylor nodded, curious as to how much Amy had told Robin on the phone. If the girl was going to be leaking the details of what they were doing to her friends, Taylor wasn't so sure she wanted Amy on the case. Still, Amy had proven helpful so far, and it was possible she had spilled the beans for Robin for a reason. Ignoring it, Taylor reached into her purse to withdraw the book, noticing the grin on the professor's face as she placed it on the desk in front of him.

"Ah, yes. I know this one well. The title means _The Demons of Deadly Water_ in Catalan—a language that was big in Valencia, Spain around the fifteenth century. I think this was written in or around 1480 as a reference guide for the creatures that were said to be left out of The Bible, though it was later changed to just a book of fairy tales like the Grimm Brothers wrote about three hundred years after the fact." Pausing a moment, Professor McDowell bit his lip. "Dare I ask where you found this? I happen to know that only three updated copies had been published in 1970, and all of them were said to remain in their country of origin."

"I found it at the public library," Amy frowned.

Shaking his head, Professor McDowell laughed. "How very odd."

"Yeah, sure is," Taylor said, sounding hastier than she had anticipated. "What's so special about this thing? I mean, what's in it?"

"Stories about creatures of the deep, I imagine," Professor McDowell grinned, not seeming disheartened by Taylor's rush. "From what I've heard about it, it proves to be an interesting read once you've translated it correctly. However, finding someone that speaks Catalan is quite a difficult task, especially in New Haven. I, myself, know nothing of the language."

Biting her lip and deeming the professor further useless, Taylor leaned forward to grab the book off the desk before the man could crack it open, her thoughts focused solely on discovering what was written inside. If A had recommended that she read it, and now that she knew the thing had to do with sea monsters of some sort, it was likely that his lead hadn't been as bum as she had thought. Suddenly interested in returning to her suite to find something online that could help her decipher it, Taylor absently got to her feet and headed toward the door, carefully slipping the book back into her purse. Behind her, Taylor could hear Amy apologizing for taking up the professor's time and for her friend's abrupt departure before slipping out after Taylor into the gray morning that now covered the area around them.

"So, what now?" Amy asked, leading the way toward their rental car.

"I want to head back to our room, see if I can get this thing put together in English before we do anything else," Taylor answered. "If Professor McDowell thinks it's going to be interesting to read, then it might be. The only way to know is to actually decode it."

Stopping for a moment, Amy bit her lip. "What about David Hollbrook?"

"What about him?"

"Shouldn't we go talk to him?" Amy frowned. "I mean, if the guy's daughter is missing just like Molly Walter, shouldn't we try to see if he saw anything? It might help a little." Shrugging, Amy pursed her lips. "Unless you want me to go by myself."

Grinning, Taylor looked at Amy with renewed excitement, glad now that her friend was finally catching onto how this was supposed to work—or according to her web informant, anyway. The way she saw it, if they were going to be solving this together, Amy had to pull her own weight instead of waiting for Taylor to figure everything out herself. Now that Amy had suggested that she help out, Taylor was no longer irritated at her friend—a sensation that seemed to wane in and out. Though she couldn't place her finger on why, Taylor had a feeling Amy knew what she was doing and was purposely slacking.

Tuning back into her friend's expectant stare, Taylor cleared her throat and dug the keys to the Lexus out of her bag. "Listen, just drop me off at Dwight and head to Norwich. David Hollbrook is holed up in an asylum there. And try not to get pulled over, this car's in my name and you're technically not supposed to be driving it."


	8. Chapter 7

Available for download in PDF. I promise you that I don't have any viruses. I just **strongly recommend **it seeing as this was written in book format. Visit the Tumblr dedicated to this series, "11785", for details.

Or just read it here (:

SEVEN

Arkham Mental Institution  
Norwich, Connecticut  
Saturday, October 7, 2006  
8:55 AM

"**W**e believe the patient may be experiencing hallucinations, particularly ones he's using to project his trauma onto," Doctor Richard Greene explained as Amy trailed behind him down the stark white halls of Arkham's fifth floor psychosis ward. "He firmly believes that his daughter was taken by a creature she drew right before her disappearance, and is holding tight to his assuredness. Even after a whole night of observation, his story has yet to change."

Biting her lip, Amy allowed the doctor to lead her down a series of corridors lined with nothing but plain white doors with small windows cut into the thick metal. From inside the rooms through the plate glass, screaming, muttering, and even eerie silence carried from beyond as the two passed, sometimes walking quicker than a few of the nurses and guards that strolled the halls, tending to the those contained in their cells. Watching in between Doctor Greene's informative spiels—each of which filled with medical jargon that seemed to lessen as time went on as the man seemed to comprehend that she couldn't understand him—as the women dressed in the same blue scrubs fluttered from room to room carrying trays holding pills in cups, Amy often felt her heart sink as she caught glimpses of the people housed inside Arkham, strangely sensing that at least half of them were there because of a situation similar to David Hollbrook's.

In the time it had taken Amy to get over to Norwich, a town of houses surrounding a shipping harbor, she had learned all she needed to know about Arkham through a conversation with Taylor on the phone. Though she knew her friend would sooner jump into translating the book they had been lead to by A, Amy had somehow managed to convince Taylor to spend a few minutes behind the computer looking into the asylum. From what she learned, the building was a six-story construct with only one elevator and a dedicated level for each type of grouped illness, the severity escalating by floor. The first contained the low-hazard patients, the ones seeking psychiatric observation for bipolar disorders and the like, whereas the topmost story housed those with dangerous syndromes, such as those with psychopathic tendencies. Surprisingly, as soon as Amy had walked in and talked to the receptionist, she had been startled to find David Hollbrook on the fifth floor, wondering just how dangerous the staff thought he was.

Introducing herself under an alias, something she thought was required and appropriate, Amy had immediately been lead to Doctor Greene's office, taking a seat and discussing the circumstances of David's admission. Finding out nothing more than the fact that the man suffered from mood-neutral delusions, apparently defined as a fantasy that doesn't alter the patient's emotional state, and that he had been admitted just after midnight, Amy had let the doctor lead her down to David's room, allowing her admittance to talk to him solely because she was a Yale University med student—a lie she had created on the walk from the car to the front doors of the old building.

However, as she kept pace with him, Amy began to get the feeling that Doctor Greene was seeing through her fib, having to explain his technical terms to someone who claimed to be a psychology major. Though she had taken a few weeks of abnormal psych ever since classes had started at the tail end of August, anything involving delusions, hallucinations, and terms that were beyond that had yet to be covered, leaving Amy to flounder a little as Doctor Greene looked at her for understanding. Faking it the best she could until she needed clarification, Amy tried to keep up as the man walked briskly, talking in abrupt paragraphs as they headed down the fifth-floor corridor.

Stopping outside of room 502, which stood at the very end of the hallway, the numbering system seeming backwards from the direction they had come, Doctor Greene halted and paused near the middle of the passageway, as though to keep the patient inside from overhearing what he was about to say. "Ms. Dawes—"

"Rachel," Amy corrected him.

"Ms. Dawes," Doctor Greene went on, "under legal binding, I can only allow you ten minutes with Mr. Hollbrook, nothing more. As such, I can also only allow you in with a warden in case things get out of hand, is that understood?"

"Yes, sir," Amy nodded.

Searching her with a knowing glare for a moment, Doctor Greene gave Amy a once-over before heading for the door and pulling out a key. Shoving it into the lock and turning the knob, the doctor moved aside to let Amy pass, leaving her for a moment as he went to fetch someone to stand guard. In the time that he was gone, Amy could see that David Hollbrook's room looked exactly as she had expected it to, with stark walls, bedding, and floors, each of them the immaculate white that had always been depicted in movies and television shows. Sitting perched on the corner of the twin-sized mattress, a man who Amy could only guess to be Mr. Hollbrook sat staring at her, his thin face carrying the darkness of a five o'clock shadow and the hollowness of lack of sleep.

Nearing him as the warden finally appeared, Amy searched for a chair to sit down in, finding nothing. Seeming to understand what she was looking for, David got up and hobbled to the wall near the door, leaning against it. As he walked, Amy noticed the man had a limp unlike any she had seen before, as though his left leg didn't bend at all. Frowning at the thought of the man giving up his seat for her, and noting how incredibly normal and chivalrous that was, Amy decided to get straight to the point to allow the man to return to the bed as quickly as possible.

"Mr. Hollbrook, I'm Rachel Dawes from the University Medical Center, how are you doing today?" Amy said calmly as she fell into the role she had assumed, pulling out the handheld notebook she had found lodged between the seats of the silver Lexus, the same one Taylor had been using during their interview with Susan Walter. When she got no response except for a small smile, Amy returned the gesture before situating herself more comfortably on the bed and retrieving a pen. "Please don't be alarmed. I'm just here to take into account everything you saw happen last night when your daughter Natalie was taken from her bedroom. I'm only here to help."

* * *

Taylor sat hunched over the keyboard as she attempted to read the foreign language on the page in front of her as well as type it perfectly into the computer. However, the dull light of the fall day and the barely-lit overhead were intent on making that as difficult as possible, causing her to leave out letter accents and apostrophes that were needed when it came to dealing with Catalan and transcribing it into English.

For the past hour that Amy had been gone, Taylor had been working relentlessly at getting everything in _Els Dimonis Mortals D'aigua _perfectly decoded, writing down each new sentence by hand whenever the online translator she had found spit it back out. So far, she had managed to get through the first three pages, liking where she was headed, but nowhere near done. The book was at least as many pages long as _The Encyclopedia Britannica_, with the number rising high into the twelve hundreds. To barely get through the initial three was hardly an accomplishment, but it was enough motivation to keep Taylor going.

Out in the corridor, the usual Saturday chatter carried through the top floor of Dwight Hall, with the occasional sound of doors slamming shut or someone laughing too loud breaking Taylor's concentration. Frowning at the disruption, and nearly getting up the nerve to head out and reprimand whoever was making the racket, Taylor tried to ignore it as best as possible as she carried on, stopping every now and again whenever some new eruption of laughter wafted into her bedroom. Eventually getting up the slam her own bedroom door, hoping that it would send a hint to whoever was out there, Taylor was momentarily relieved of sound, only becoming distracted as her cell phone began to ring. Checking the caller ID and seeing that it was her mother, Taylor threw the mobile aside, letting it roll to voicemail.

For some reason, with Professor McDowell backing up A's claims about the book, Taylor had become consumed with deciphering the language, feeling just as swallowed in the task as she had been when it came to the idea of digging up information on ghosts last month. Working feverishly and steadily to get the task done, Taylor then had glued herself to the chair in Amy's bedroom, not moving for days on end until she was through looking into what had been handed to her. However, if that was any indicator of how this case was going to go, Taylor's efforts would be for naught, especially since after all that work looking into spirits, it had turned out she and Amy were faced with a demon instead. Thankfully, though, Taylor now had an outside contact she was certain she could trust, someone who was leading her in the right direction rather than deceiving her.

Hunkering down over her work again, Taylor began to absorb herself into the material, finding herself falling into a pattern as she carefully input the Catalan into the text box and hit translate with the click of a mouse. Unfortunately, before she could finish the fourth page, the sound of keys in a lock came from the other side of her shut door, followed closely behind by almost imperceptible footsteps. Groaning loudly, Taylor put her pen down after she scribbled the word "creature" for what felt like the thousandth time, turning in her chair just as Amy knocked and entered her room. On her face, the look of disappointment was clear, as well as the sense that something was wrong.

"How'd it go?" Taylor asked, crossing her arms and leaning back. "Bad? Good?"

"Incredibly… normal," Amy frowned. "Even though the guy was upset about his daughter going missing, he explained everything as if he was totally sane. Apparently he's an injured war vet who jumped balconies to get to his daughter's bedroom. By the time he got into the girl's room, she was gone, as well as the thing that took her. The only thing more distressing than what he said was the fact that he blames himself. He thinks he should have been faster or something." Amy stopped to bite her lip. "But he never mentioned anything about some kind of water creature, just said that something took her, which makes me wonder how he was placed in an asylum in the first place."

"Did you talk to one of the doctors?" Taylor asked, sitting up straighter in interest.

"Yeah, I did," Amy sighed. "I even asked David Hollbrook to tell me exactly what he said to Doctor Greene, and if he told me the truth, then there's nothing in there about any kind of monster. But the doctor knew about it, so I don't know if I was lied to or if something's off. I'm more inclined to think something's wacky."

Pursing her lips, Taylor furrowed her brow. "Why?"

"Remember in the article how it said David saw that drawing Natalie had done, that drawing _we_ saw. There wasn't a mention of it in the entire conversation. And the doctor didn't bring it up, either, just claimed that the guy was hallucinating."

"Maybe he didn't tell you the truth," Taylor shrugged.

"Yeah, maybe," Amy frowned, grasping her keys tighter in her hand.

For a moment, the two girls remained in their respective places, staring off into space while they both thought. In Taylor's experience with her friend, she knew to trust Amy's judgment when she sensed something was off, remembering specific incidents of when she had outwardly vocalized her uncertainty with a situation. In the past, Amy had uncovered that Rachel Richardson, the first girl to die during the demon attacks, was being cheated on by Chase DuPonte just by a slight inference she had made in regards to the way the guy interacted with Stacy Miller. After that, Amy had been the one to get them started on the creature hunt, noting that something was wrong by the time Celia had been thrown from the top story of Connecticut Hall.

Taking those instances into account, Taylor rose to her feet and pulled on her jacket, not wanting to leave the work behind to head out, but feeling as though she had no other choice. Ignoring her friend's raised eyebrow as she carefully tugged on her black hoodie to avoid messing up her hair, Taylor nodded at the door, leading the way toward it.

"Where are you going?" Amy asked, curiosity and confusion mixed in her inflection.

"If we're going to get to the bottom of this, we need to take a look at Natalie Hollbrook's room," Taylor asked, taking the first step out into the crowded corridor. "You said something seems off, so…"

"So you're suggesting we do what? Break into their house to find out if I'm right?" Amy frowned, seeming suddenly reluctant. "Don't you think that's going a little too far? I'm not really sure if I'm willing to risk jail time just to capture some monster that may or may not be behind this whole thing."

Rolling her eyes and shaking her head, Taylor hurried forward, becoming irritated again with Amy's fluctuating involvement. "Trust me, we _won't_ get caught."


	9. Chapter 8

Available for download in PDF. I promise you that I don't have any viruses. I just **strongly recommend **it seeing as this was written in book format. Visit the Tumblr dedicated to this series, "11785", for details.

Or just read it here (:

EIGHT

Hollbrook Residence  
Willow, Connecticut  
Saturday, October 7, 2006  
10:06 AM

**T**he drive north up the 91 had been quiet underneath the sounds of the XM radio station carrying throughout the car as Taylor directed them back toward Willow. As The Postal Service's album played in its entirety during the trip, with Amy nodding slowly to the songs as she watched trees and other vehicles pass by them on the freeway, Taylor had remained silent, as though focusing on the upcoming task.

By the time the silver Lexus pulled into the driveway of David and Natalie Hollbrook's Colonial-style home, Amy could tell that her friend had slipped into some sort of mode, as if her sole thought was honed in on getting in and out of the house as quickly as possible. During the trip, Taylor had slowly become geared for what they were about to do, keeping quiet as she rolled her shoulders back and stared straight ahead. Though Amy didn't agree with the plan, and definitely still had qualms about breaking into someone's house, she was at least glad Taylor was looking at the task at hand objectively and professionally. However, that didn't do much to calm Amy's fear of getting caught, especially since the Hollbrook's place was situated in the middle of a street where kids were playing out in the road. Any of them were likely to run inside and tell their parents that something odd was going on at the house in the dead center of the lane, and that would mean it was only a matter of time before the police were called. Unfortunately, if Taylor was right in saying that they needed to check out Natalie's room in order to return the missing children to their respectful homes, both of them sharing the feeling that neither abducted child had been killed, then they had no choice but to do something that was likely to get them thrown in jail.

Glancing around quickly, though trying not to look suspicious, Amy saw that the youngsters they had passed only moments before were consumed in a game of tag in the middle of the street, taking their attention off of the two girls who had pulled into David Hollbrook's driveway. Taking the opportunity of their distraction, Taylor nodded solemnly at her friend, as though to give a signal that was never discussed. Playing it by ear, Amy watched as Taylor rounded to the fence leading to the backyard, frowning a little as the other girl yanked open the gate without having to do much else except tug on the string. Disappearing a second later, Amy bunched her jaw and headed to the door, pretending to be nothing but a visitor. Waiting a moment, in order to give Taylor time to pick the lock or break the window or whatever she was doing, Amy reached forward to ring the bell, the front door swinging wide after a minute's pause to reveal her friend.

Sighing quietly, Amy entered the house and noticed that the inside blinds had all been shut, either by Taylor's doing or someone else. Closing them off from the rest of the world, Amy waited for the other girl to join her as they stood in the foyer, looking around at the surrounding space. The walls were painted a violent orange that seemed to offset the white couch, the living room around them the unkemptness that signaled a single man but with the hint of a kid sprinkled throughout. As crayons lay on a workstation near the kitchen table and toys lay in pockets of the room, Amy could pick up clues from what was strewn about, parts of the house looking more untidy than others. It was clear that the place had been picked over by the police, judging by the way pillows from the sofa had been tossed onto the floor and books on the nearby shelves were pulled out from their dusty rows. Embedded in the white carpet that seemed to sit only in the living room, three sets of black footprints carried from the front door to the back, as though someone who had stomped through oil hadn't taken the time to clean off the bottom of their shoes.

Following the line of footsteps with her eyes, Amy saw that each set dispersed at a certain point—one heading toward the kitchen sitting next to the back door, one heading for the stairs, and another leading outside. Glancing at Taylor as though looking for their next move, the girl remained silent and nodded to the kitchen, holding her finger up to her lips to signal that they keep quiet. Irked by the suggestion, and wondering if her friend was under the impression that the thing that had taken both Molly Walter and Natalie Hollbrook was still somewhere in the house, Amy furrowed her brow before starting for the direction Taylor had indicated, noticing that the other girl was heading up the stairs.

Nearing a small yellow table that was situated in the corner beside a large oak counter, Amy walked carefully, making sure not to step on anything that might tamper with evidence or give hint that someone had been inside the house after the police had left. As she picked up a few drawings sitting at the small station, finding them to be rough sketches of princesses and unicorns, her senses began to pick up, kicking into a gear much like the adrenaline overdrive she had experienced while dealing with the demon last month, a sensation that kept coming and going as it pleased. Feeling her knees turn to jelly and her hands become unsteady, Amy felt something new began to surge within the rest of the burst, as though her head was suddenly rushing with blood. A moment later and Amy could feel drops begin to trickle out of her nose, red drips hitting the tile floor underfoot. Swallowing hard, Amy shoved her hand up to stop the sudden oozing of scarlet, reaching blindly for a paper towel.

"Amy!" Taylor's voice yelped from upstairs, sounding surprised. "We're in trouble."

Swallowing hard as she eased her head back down from the upward position she had been holding it, Amy looked around just as Taylor raced for the bottom of the stairs, grabbing her friend's hand with one swift motion and pulling her toward the door to the garage beside the kitchen. Unfortunately, before they could get any farther than a few steps, the front entrance of the house was kicked open to reveal two police officers rushing toward them, neither giving pause as they shoved both girls into the wall beside the refrigerator. Smearing blood from her nose onto the orange-colored sheetrock, Amy's heart stopped as the cold metal of handcuffs met her wrists, her eyes darting toward Taylor as her friend was also placed under arrest.

"You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say or do can and will be held against you in a court of law. You have the right to speak to an attorney. If you cannot afford an attorney, one will be appointed for you. Do you understand these rights as they have been read to you?" a harsh-sounding police officer barked as he finished cuffing Amy.

"Y-yes," Amy stammered, looking at Taylor as the other girl mirrored her statement.

Swallowing hard as a pair of calloused hands grabbed her arm, Amy allowed herself to be steered away from the place she had been shoved against, her breathing heavy as a panic began to set in. She knew this was a bad idea, she knew following Taylor into such a stupid situation was going to end in the worst way, but she had done it against her instinct, choosing to let her friend make the decision instead of listening to herself. Now both of them were screwed, and were either going to have to come up with a reasonable explanation or face the consequences that came with what they had done.

As her jelly legs began to worsen while she walked to the police cruiser parked outside, Amy glanced back at Taylor, finding that her friend seemed more suspicious of the officers handling them than she was scared. Silently wondering what that was about as she was ducked into the back of the squad car, Amy kept her mouth shut as she moved over to make room for her friend, unable to feel the chilly leather seats under her but knowing they were there. Everything around her was numb as her mind raced, trying to think of a way out of their predicament that would save them from having to be locked up.

Coming up with nothing as the vehicle pulled away from the curb, Amy rolled her head back as Taylor sent her a worried glance, the sight of blood on her friend's face seeming to alarm her more than the fact that they had just been arrested. Silently questioning her with a furrowed brow, Taylor leaned forward to whisper in Amy's ear, only to get reprimanded by the officer driving them to the nearby police station.

"You better make sure what you say is worth it."

Snapping back into place, Taylor remained on her side of the car while Amy took in the appearance of the cops who had busted them. The driver was tall with a mass of black hair and the beginnings of a mustache, his eyes reflecting back in the rearview mirror as a harsh blue that reminded her of the carpet in one of the many motels she had stayed at with John during the summer—the attempt at an ocean décor in a place far off from the sea, the shack-like lodging in Grover Ridge, Arkansas. His partner beside him was stout and round, his face hardened into a look of irritation underneath his thinning blonde hair. From where she sat, Amy could see a stub nose and a bulging gaze, the stare fixed straight ahead as though to keep his thoughts pointed on their destination.

By the time the cruiser pulled into the gravel lot of the police station, Amy was both uneasy from her hands being clasped behind her back and from the sensation running up and down her thighs. For some reason, out of the two different discomforts, she would rather choose that the latter disappear, the instability of her legs proving more harrowing than the metal locked around her wrists. As the officers stopped to get out and haul them inside, Amy began to trip over her feet, causing the taller policeman to eye her suspiciously, clearly curious as to whether she was in her right mind or on drugs. Immediately taking her into a back room colored a dull gray while the shorter officer reached into her pockets to remove her personal items, Amy was guided into what appeared to be an interrogation room, dropped into a chair beside Taylor as the two men roughly handled her. While the cops stood back to allow another one to enter, a man of medium build and gray hair that she could see reflected in the two-way mirror in front of them, Amy took the chance to look at herself, noticing that most of her face was covered in blood, making it seem as though she had gotten into some sort of fight beforehand.

However, before she could focus on her appearance, the door behind them slammed shut to leave the two girls alone in the room with the older officer, an expression on his face of clear aggravation as he took a seat in the chair across from them. Leaning against the metal table separating the trio, the man tapped his fingers absently against it, looking from Taylor to Amy with a hint of disgust.

"So Honey West and Pandora Fox have come to Willow," the policeman said, a sardonic smirk plastered on his lips. "It was only a matter of time before I got at least one of you poking around town."

"I don't…" Amy trailed off, suddenly confused. "We're just—"

"Trying to interrupt our town traditions?" the man barked, getting up from his chair fast enough to knock it over. "Don't you think we've been doing this long enough to know when a couple of you Hunters would roll on in? Are you all really as stupid as you look or is that just a selective group?"

Eyes widening, Amy glanced at Taylor, wondering if her friend was picking up any meaning to the officer's words. Finding the other girl just as confused, and slightly more surprised, Amy turned back to the man as he pushed against the table hard enough to turn his knuckles white.

"You'll stay here, _in lockup_, until we're finished. Then we'll see what to do with you."

Furrowing her brow as the officer rounded to the door, Amy swallowed hard while the previous policemen returned, tugging the two from their seats and directing them back toward the front of the precinct and past a pair of swinging doors. Heading through them, Amy gasped as the sight of jail cells appeared under the automatic lights that illuminated brighter with each step, ones that clearly hadn't been used in quite some time. Shoving them both into separate confinements before uncuffing them both, the officers pulled the sliding doors tightly shut and locked them, leaving the swinging entrance wide open as though to give them a view of what was happening out in the lobby.

Still unable to stand firmly on the ground, despite the anxiety that was slowly replacing the rush of adrenaline that had come in David Hollbrook's kitchen, Amy took a seat on the bench-slash-bed that was positioned against the wall, shutting her eyes for a moment as though hoping to open them and find herself back a Yale. Taking a deep breath while the sound of Taylor's shoes echoed against the cement floor, Amy tried to make sense of everything, especially the older officer's words. What the hell did he mean by "interrupting town traditions"? Was there something going on in Willow that Amy didn't understand and had stepped right into?

Seeming to pick up on that thought from her own cell, Taylor paced as she spoke. "That was weird, wasn't it? It's like he's hiding something. I think they've been watching us ever since we arrived here. Maybe that's why Hollbrook changed his story at Arkham. Maybe the police put some pressure on him, or maybe they convinced him he was crazy."

Opening her eyes, Amy shook her head, wanting to think of nothing more than getting out of the police station unscathed. Though her mind wouldn't shut off the thought of what the cop had said, they had more pressing matters at hand, meaning that that was about to be put on the backburner for now—or for good.

"We need to call somebody," Amy muttered after a long moment. "A lawyer."

"Isn't your dad a lawyer?" Taylor asked. "Call him and ask him to come."

"No, my dad, he…"

Shuddering at the idea of phoning Joel Forester to have him fly to Willow, Connecticut to pick up his daughter from jail, Amy frowned, marking it as a last resort. While she knew Joel would undoubtedly understand, especially if she explained the situation correctly, and would probably go to bat for her in court, she couldn't muster the courage to call him and ask the man to bail her out. Rolling her shoulders back, Amy let silence fall for a moment as she thought, trying to come up with a solution that would keep the occurrence between them as well as allow them to exit free of charge.

Pursing her lips as she looked up to glance around the lobby of the precinct, Amy took in the five officers milling around the front desk, noting that at least three of them were standing shoulder-to-shoulder, blocking the view of the southwest wall of the building. Narrowing her eyes as she watched them, and feeling a strange tingle in her gut, Amy glued her stare onto them for a moment before the middle of the three moved to reveal the familiar bulk of man dressed in a black wool coat with dark hair and eyes, the bottom half of his face covered with a salt-and-pepper beard that made him look even more distressed than he was. Swallowing hard, Amy got to her feet and neared the bars of the cell, grasping onto the cold metal as she tried to get her bearings.

"…He's right here."


	10. Chapter 9

Available for download in PDF. I promise you that I don't have any viruses. I just **strongly recommend **it seeing as this was written in book format. Visit the Tumblr dedicated to this series, "11785", for details.

Or just read it here (:

NINE

Hartford County Police Station  
West Hartford, Connecticut  
Saturday, October 7, 2006  
11:37 AM

**J**ohn Winchester doubted there was anything in the damn town of Hartford that could piss him off any more than he was. After a morning of lackluster searches, time whittled away working surveillance outside of the house he was scoping out, and an overall absence of incompetence with whomever he spoke to, John was just about ready to leave Connecticut altogether, with or without what he came here for.

In the last few weeks that he had spent trailing behind Sam and Dean as they went from the case he had sent them on in Fitchburg, Wisconsin to another in New Paltz, New York—trying to get a good read on how his sons were doing and whether or not they were being followed by anything else aside from their own father—John had managed to pick up a few tidbits of information pertaining to the demon he was hunting. As he spoke with other Hunters over the phone, some that should have gotten out of the business a long time ago in his opinion, and tried to sort through pieces of legend, John had ultimately come across something that might help him in killing the thing he had been hunting for the past twenty-two years—twenty-three coming next month.

But in order to decipher lore from facts, John had digging to do, more so than whenever he was getting his hands dirty trying to uncover whatever the demon that had killed Mary was ultimately up to. As he dove into books and phone calls and whatever else he could manage to get himself buried under, John had eventually been pointed toward Hartford, Connecticut, sensing an irony there that he couldn't dismiss. After having just left the state following a rather grizzly encounter with a demon that had nearly killed Amelia, he had sworn to keep his distance from her, knowing that the thing had only attacked her because of her connection to him. To have to return to an area not even forty miles from where she went to school, John was both initially reluctant and surprisingly curious, wondering if the signs were pointing in a helpful or hurtful way—though in his experience, it was always the latter.

Deciding to take the trip down to Hartford, John had left Sam and Dean to their own devices in New York, arriving only a day before the publicized disappearance of a couple of kids hit the news. While it was obvious that something strange was happening there, John had a priority to finish what he had come to town to do first before figuring out whether or not he was going to jump into the job. Heading straight for Armsmear, the former home of Samuel Colt that had been turned into a museum of Colt's more famous guns, John had waited until the early morning hours to make a trip inside, breaking in through the back to scope out the place and search for any evidence that backed up the claims he had been hearing from various Hunters over the past few weeks. Unfortunately, the longer he stayed inside, the longer John began to get suspicious that he was believing in nothing more than a myth, something Hunters told their kids as a bedtime story.

Packing up and leaving, though returning a few hours later when the doors opened to talk to the docent, John had spent the rest of the day on the phone, filing away what the curator had said to him during his private tour of the place. For some reason, there was something in the man who had paraded him around the museum's voice that told John not to give up on his endeavor just yet, as though the illusive gun he was searching for was just out of reach, but not quite in range. Picking up where he left off in phone calls and library visits, John began to get more and more frustrated with his various informants on the other end of the line, finding that they were becoming less and less useful as they prattled on the same information they had given him the first time, their story never changing or divulging anything new.

However, with noon not so far away, John had decided to switch gears, focusing instead on the articles he had read in the newspaper while he had been in Hartford, a couple of stories about missing children in the neighboring town of Willow. Taking the drive over, which happened to be a couple of residential streets away, John had immediately taken to asking around, finding himself more frustrated than before when most of the people in the tiny suburb either pretended to be unaware of what was going on or were tight-lipped about the two reported incidents. Mentally storing that for future use, especially since it had struck him as odd in a town so small, John decided to go straight to the source, doubling back into Hartford to head to the police station sitting not too far away on an empty stretch of Route 176.

Making a beeline for the front desk to talk to one of the five officers milling around, three congregated in front of him as he flashed his FBI badge, noticing a look of surprise and shock mixed in all of their expressions. As he took to asking them about the missing kids, the trio of officers began to stammer three different tales, each of them sounding more bizarre than the theory John had already worked up. Asking for the police reports the parents had filed, he waited impatiently as the cops broke apart, giving John a clear view all around the precinct. However, his eyes didn't travel much further than the holding cells that were easily seen in a brightly-lit room just behind the area he was standing in front of, immediately recognizing one of the two girls being contained there—tall, thin, brown hair, green eyes.

_Amelia_.

As soon as he saw her, the bubbling rage that he had been attempting to contain for most of the day began to flow over, causing John to snap at the surrounding officers and ask for an explanation as to what those girls were doing in the back. Stopping in the middle of his paperwork, one of the meandering policemen who hadn't been muddling the tale of the missing children answered that they had been taken in for breaking and entering, as well as messing up a crime scene. Shaking his head, John bit back the incensed words he wanted to bark at the cop, instead choosing to round the desk and head to where Amelia was holding tightly to the bars of her cell.

"Girls," John began quietly, "shouldn't you be in school?"

Pursing her lips, Amelia's eyes searched John's face as though looking for the right answer, reminding him strongly of his oldest son when he was younger, the gaze portraying the obvious need to reply correctly without incurring the famous wrath of John Winchester. "We, uh, we should."

"Then what are you doing here?"

Opening her mouth, to speak, Amelia took a deep breath. "There's something—"

"Mr. Winchester, if I may," the girl in the holding tank beside his daughter interrupted. Taking a look at her, John remembered her from the night he had passed her unconscious in the hall, though he was beginning to get the feeling he was going to like her more asleep than awake as she butted in. "Amy and I are just doing our jobs. We noticed something was wrong in town and decided to check it out. We were in David Hollbrook's house when the cops busted us. We weren't doing anything wrong, so if you could just get us out of here so we could be on our merry way, that'd be great."

Furrowing his brow at the friend, and noticing that Amelia's reaction to the speech had been nothing but an eye roll, John bunched his jaw in aggravation at both the other girl's words and how brazen she had been. Though he typically commended anyone who wasn't afraid to hold back what they thought, he had a hard time accepting it when it came to the subject of his kids—in this case, particularly Amelia. John had worked the girl's entire life to keep her out of this, and had been certain that she would shy away after the encounter with the demon, leaving her behind one of the books in his personal collection in case she had some sort of questions as to what had happened that no one would be able to answer. While it was possible that she had misinterpreted the gesture, John had a feeling it wasn't Amelia who had been the one to jump into the job, but instead her friend beside her.

Remaining silent, John narrowed his eyes at the friend, debating whether or not to let them out or have them stay put while he took care of whatever menace was sweeping through Willow. Though he knew it would be cruel to leave the girls in the hands of the inept policemen outside, John had made a promise to both himself and to his daughter's mother than Amelia would never enter the world of hunting, and had stood by that. Only when circumstances were dire had he brought her in while still keeping her in the dark, and even then he had made sure she believed everything to be normal. Amelia's mother, Morgan, would be disappointed to know that he had found her in the middle of a case, and would probably turn over in her grave if she knew.

Making the decision to get them out of there and send them back to school, John left to speak to one of the officers, flashing his badge again and nodding toward the girls behind him. "Any charges been pressed over the 10-14?"

"No, sir," the man replied, shaking his head. "We haven't been able to reach the owner of the property. He's been admitted to Arkham and has been placed under controlled observation for the next twenty-four hours. A neighbor called it in."

"So, you're holding two college students with no priors without grounds, is that what you're saying?" John snapped, rolling his shoulders back to stand taller than the already-shorter man, who then cowered beneath him. "The federal government has rules and regulations against this, officer. If these two haven't been arrested on factual grounds, this can be written up as mistreatment of a citizen. You can lose your job for this."

"But Sheriff Dobbs—"

"Sheriff Dobbs is already aware of the situation," John lied. "You either release them, or I make a call to my superiors. Do I make myself clear?"

"Yes, uh… yes, sir."

Nodding to the policeman as he removed a set of keys from his belt, John followed behind the cop as he headed for the doors of the jail cells, unlocking each quickly with shaking hands and stepping back to allow the girls to exit. As soon as Amelia was free from inside, John grabbed her arm to steer her away, leading her out the front door of the precinct with her friend in tow. By the time they were out in the overcast day, and away from the peering eyes of the officers in the station, John released his grip from around the girl's arm, checking to make sure he hadn't bruised her or held her too roughly.

"Well, I'm so not doing that again," the friend joked to break up the quiet that had fallen. "We better be more careful next time, Aims. Maybe—"

"There won't _be_ a next time," John interrupted, looking down at the much shorter girl, who appeared neither concerned nor surprised at his glare. "You will return to your car, you will drive home, and you'll stay at school until the end of the year. You will not leave campus, you will not show up in Willow again, and you will not waste time working jobs. You're kids and you're going to stay kids until you graduate, understood?"

"I understand," Amelia answered automatically, a sense of relief coming over her that seemed to solidify John's suspicion that she hadn't been the one to suggest they take the case. "Thank you for that… whole thing."

Nodding once, John turned heel and headed back inside, leaving his daughter and her friend out on the sidewalk to either make good on their word or do what they would.

* * *

Watching as John disappeared into the police station, Amy let out a deep breath, shutting her eyes for a moment to get her bearings. The man was right in saying that they should keep their nose out of the situation, that they should stay in school rather than poke around at things that were none of their business. Amy had had that feeling back when Taylor had first proposed they go check out what was happening in Willow, but had overridden the sense due to the fact that she had convinced herself that she was doing the right thing, helping people rather than sitting idly by.

But that wasn't her life, and it wasn't her job to save strangers. John seemed to have already devoted himself to the cause, and he appeared to be on top of it, knowing how to work the system rather than making guesses at what to do. He was learned and trained on how to deal with things like this, whereas Amy and Taylor were messing everything up by breaking into homes and getting arrested. They were being stupid trying to be superheroes instead of students, and Amy was glad that at least someone else realized that along with her.

Rolling her shoulders back, Amy sighed and nodded toward Taylor before heading in the direction she remembered the police car had taken them from David Hollbrook's house in Willow.


	11. Chapter 10

Available for download in PDF. I promise you that I don't have any viruses. I just **strongly recommend **it seeing as this was written in book format. Visit the Tumblr dedicated to this series, "11785", for details.

Or just read it here (:

TEN

Perry's Coffee & Tea  
Willow, Connecticut  
Saturday, October 7, 2006  
2:13 PM

**A**my slumped back in the metal chair positioned inside of Perry's Coffee & Tea perched at the end of Willow's one shopping district, sitting on the main street that lead in and out of town. The metal was cold, matching the unnecessary air conditioning that circulated throughout the square room, but felt good against Amy's thin cardigan—but it was just about the only thing that felt good at the moment.

For the past hour, Amy and Taylor had been sitting inside the coffeehouse, waiting to hear back from the Enterprise in New Haven. In the time before that, the two had walked all the way back to David Hollbrook's house, ducking beneath bushes whenever they saw a squad car roaming around, only to find that their borrowed Lexus was missing from the driveway in which it had been parked. Not sure what to do, Amy had waited for Taylor to call the rental place back downstate before turning to find someplace crowded to hide out in. Making the trek over to Main Street, and finding that it was just about the only area they could blend in at, Amy listened to her friend's conversation as she tried to figure out whether or not the car had been towed to the police impound lot or sent back to where it had come from. By the time they reached the café, neither question had been answered, with the other person on the end of the line telling Taylor just to wait to see if it turns up.

While Amy knew there was probably a quicker way to figure out where the car had gone, it wasn't an option either of them were willing to risk. To walk back into the police station, the same station that had taken their purses and wallets from their pockets upon arrival and had neglected to return them—in all honesty, Amy had forgotten in the confusion—would be the same as asking to be arrested again, or so she thought. Judging by the way the sheriff, or whoever that had been in the interrogation room, had reacted to their presence, it was unlikely that he would let them walk away again. To go inside would be to undo John's release, and Amy would much rather leave her things behind than to face more time inside of a jail cell.

But how they were supposed to get back to New Haven was beyond both Amy and Taylor's comprehension. With only a mobile phone between them, which Taylor had managed to keep thanks to her habit of stuffing it in her bra, neither girl had the money or resources to call anyone for a ride. With all of their friends going in the way of the demon last month, anyone reliable was already six feet under, and neither girl knew anyone well enough to expect them to make the trip all the way up to Willow, especially since most students on campus didn't have a car.

Tapping her fingers against the metal tabletop, Amy pursed her lips as she looked around the coffeehouse. Aside from the two of them, only a handful of people sat inside, situated close together in the small shop. As conversations carried on around them, most of them in hushed tones to keep from being overheard, Amy momentarily pondered the idea of hitching a ride back to Yale. However, having already broken one law today, Amy wasn't too keen to bend another, especially since hitchhiking was considered fineable in Connecticut.

Pushing the thought aside, Amy turned her attention to Taylor, who looked more bothered by the idea of having to find a way back than she did. Though she knew that her friend wasn't used to having to rely on herself without money, especially since Taylor's family was more loaded than her own, Amy had a feeling that not being able to whip out a credit card to solve the problem was bothering Taylor more than she would ever admit. In fact, Amy had a feeling Taylor had only taken to investigating odd things because it gave her a reason to warm up the piece of plastic that sat abandoned in her wallet—that, and the fact that Taylor was beginning to thrive on danger.

For some reason, both of those things pestered Amy, making her feel as though Taylor was shoving herself into a life that wasn't meant for her, for either of them. With John's orders that they return to school and continue to act like normal girls—something she had been lobbying for ever since her friend had first brought up the subject of leaving Yale to stick their noses into something weird—Amy's mood had changed toward Taylor, giving her the sense that Taylor was up to something more than "doing the right thing" as she had previously stated her reason behind this had been. In the years that Amy had known her friend, Taylor had always been the last person to suggest they do something for the sake of humanity, always choosing to do what she wanted rather than what might assist anyone else. For her to suddenly turn a new leaf struck Amy as just as strange as two girls disappearing in a puddle of water in the middle of the night.

However, Amy had a strong suspicion that she was only feeling that way because of the last time she had been lead down the rabbit hole. A demon had been posing as her friend to push her onto the path she was currently turning away from, and that was something Amy couldn't ignore—the paranoia that anyone she knew could be a mask for a different creature. Ultimately, though, Amy sensed that wasn't the case this time, especially since during the days of Bailey, she had felt a sensation in her gut that was equal to someone tying her intestines in a knot. Whenever the two had brushed hands or bare skin, a sudden writhing would overtake her. For the past few days, Taylor and Amy had run into one another more than once, and nothing had yet to squirm in her stomach.

But that still left the question open for interpretation, for an explanation as to why Taylor was abruptly interested in tracking down the boogey man and killing him. For the past month, Amy had spent hours away from her own dorm room because of Taylor's obsession to find weird things and hunt them down, but Thursday night had been the first time that she had actually found anything. In the weeks leading up to that, Taylor had been buying books from the student store and local shops, spending money on pre-assembled shelves to hold them, and wasting away her days holed up inside her room instead of heading to class. It was like something in her was changing, going from one extreme to the next. At this time last year, if anyone had heard that Taylor Rosen was ditching school to head out on ghost hunts, they would have laughed before tracking her down at the nail salon to ask her why anyone would spread such a rumor.

Sitting up rigidly as the phone placed on the tabletop between the two girls began to ring loudly throughout the café, Amy glanced down at the black mobile right before Taylor snatched it up, noticing on the caller ID display that Enterprise was listed. Getting up from where she sat, Taylor crossed the small shop and disappeared outside, Amy following not far behind out of curiosity. For some reason, Amy had a feeling the disappearing Lexus had been returned to the rental lot rather than snatched up by the police, especially since the car didn't belong to either of them in the first place. On top of that, Amy also had a feeling that Taylor was about to be charged handsomely for getting arrested while driving it, in addition to someone having to take it back to New Haven.

Listening in the best she could, Amy picked up bits of the conversation, pieces that confirmed her suppositions. According to the person on the other end of the line, from what she could hear, the car had been towed by one of the police officers in Willow and that an extra hundred dollars was going to be added to Taylor's bill when she came to pay it. Tuning out the rest, especially when it came to her friend arguing over the Enterprise employee's claim that she wouldn't be able to rent from them again, Amy leaned against the wooden façade of the café, choosing to watch the people walking along the sidewalk instead. Across the way, two elderly women hobbled by while a trio of younger girls laden with bags followed behind. On Amy's side of the street, a man sat at a bench while on the phone, leaning farther back into his seat the longer he talked.

By the time Taylor ended her conversation—in a huff, judging by the way she snapped the mobile shut—Amy had watched as each of these people disappeared into different buildings or vehicles, leaving the pair of them to stand alone on an empty street. Feeling suddenly exposed, Amy swallowed hard and turned to head back inside Perry's Coffee & Tea, only to be grabbed by Taylor before she could do so. Furrowing her brow, Amy went slack as Taylor began to pull her toward the opposite end of the lane, finding that Main tapered off into nothing but an abandoned field. Looking around and discovering that a cluster of cars were parked along the final curb of the road they were standing on, probably belonging to the workers inside the clothing boutique that sat at the tail end, Amy narrowed her eyes in curiosity as Taylor headed for the oldest vehicle, peering inside the windows as though looking for something.

"What are you doing?" Amy asked, crossing her arms over her chest.

"We need a ride back to New Haven. And unless you know where your dad went…"

"You're going to steal a car?" Amy asked, raising her eyebrows. "Seriously? After everything we just went through, you're going to…" Trailing off as Taylor shrugged and smiled, Amy frowned. "Have fun."

"You're not coming?"

Reaching up to grab a lock of hair to twist absently, a habit she fell back on whenever she was unsure of what to say, Amy cleared her throat. "No."

Smirking, Taylor rolled her eyes. "Good luck getting back to school then."

Letting out an exasperated sigh, Amy shook her head and turned back toward Main, not bothering to check to see if Taylor was behind her. There was definitely something changing in her friend, something that was causing the girl to act reckless and insouciant, almost as though she didn't care about anyone or anything except for what she was doing at the moment. Turning around to see whether or not her walking away had changed the other girl's mind, Amy pivoted to look back just as Taylor slammed a rock from the path underfoot into the driver's side window, shattering the glass. Bunching her jaw in concern, as well as wonder over whether or not she should stop her friend, Amy took a step toward the girl just as the sound of an engine overturning filled the air. A second later, before she could do anything else, Taylor was gone, speeding down the dirt road in the old Buick she had quickly hotwired. Scoffing as the dust trail faded, Amy returned to town, finding herself abandoned and alone forty miles from where she was supposed to be.

_Maybe I should have gone with her_, Amy sighed, biting her lip.

Figuring there was only one way she was _legally_ going to be able to return to Yale, an idea that she previously hadn't wanted to enact, Amy crossed away from Main Street and began toward West Hartford, hoping against hope that the officers inside would allow her to collect her things and leave. Though that didn't seem likely, Amy had a feeling that John was still around, probably remaining inside in at length in order to get more information on the case that he had taken over from the two girls—the case that should have been his in the first place. Knowing it would be better to either be reprimanded by John or taken into questioning by the police instead of being arrested once again for grand theft auto, Amy quickened her pace, knowing that the walk to the station was just upward of five miles.

* * *

Taylor didn't know what was wrong with her or what was causing her to act like a rebellious child. As she sat behind the wheel of a stolen vehicle, something she had done not even a few hours after being arrested for breaking and entering, she sped toward New Haven on the I-91 as though the speed limit was more of a suggestion than a regulation.

Gripping the wheel, she kept her hands firmly in place as her eyes darted back and forth from the road in front of her to the stretch of cars behind her, hoping against hope that none of them were a police cruiser intent of pulling her over. As the speedometer hit ninety, something she only drove on the abandoned stretch of roads back in Cicero whenever she was bored out of her mind, Taylor attempted to relax into the cloth seats the Buick provided, only sitting more rigidly the closer she got to her destination. All she had to do was get off the freeway, ditch the car somewhere within walking distance of Yale, and be free of what she had done. Hopefully it would be hours before anyone went looking for the car, giving her enough time to rid herself of whatever sudden carelessness had come over her.

Drifting onto the off ramp, Taylor swallowed hard as she veered around the cars stopped at the light, making a right toward the section of town she knew was frequented by people who were more likely to steal a hotwired car and less by college students who were holed up in their dorms, squirreling their time away as they studied for finals. Finding an abandoned field sitting behind an equally deserted building, Taylor put the car in park and used her sweatshirt to wipe her prints off of the steering wheel, backing up from it as though it was likely to explode when she was finished. Making sure her phone was tucked safely into her cleavage, Taylor started toward Yale, seeing the tall brick towers from a distance.

In all honesty, Taylor was beginning to become scared of what was going on with her. In the years past, she would rather be relaxing and studying than tracking things down. Even when Bailey Yost had suggested that it was their job to figure out what was going on with the deaths on campus back in September, Taylor had brushed her off and tried to pass the buck, wanting nothing more than to mourn the loss of her friends and return to normal. But after that ghost attack in her room, and after spending long hours behind the computer, something in Taylor had kicked into gear, causing her to act obsessive, something she had never been before. Most people knew that Taylor Rosen was the type of girl who would rather chase boys that spirits, who would rather get her nails done than break one fighting demons, and who would much rather go to class than forget it.

Prior to the ordeal at Yale, Taylor had planned to become an English teacher at her old private school, finding it to be an easy job that allowed faculty to have three solid months off a year, as well as a couple weeks vacation. She was going to finish university and live an easy life, her parents already having set up her financial stability but only allowing her access to the trust fund in her name after she turned twenty-five. Until then, she was supposed to find her own way in the world, using her credit card sparingly and having to keep her monthly bills under a thousand dollars. So far, she had been able to do that, even living under the projection of cash up until now, but lately, almost as though either the attack in her dorm or the coma she had been put under had sparked it, she had begun to live under the "life's too short" motto.

Pushing the thought away as she crossed over to Chapel Street, Taylor turned her mind elsewhere, over to Amy still abandoned in Willow. She was going to have to figure out a way to retrieve her friend, who had every right to walk away from Taylor's GTA stint, but that seemed to be an issue that was slowly becoming placed on the backburner. Amy could stay in Willow for a few more hours, there was something Taylor had to do first.

Making her way across campus, Taylor headed straight for Dwight Hall and up the stairs, thankful that she had had the mind to leave her dorm unlocked. Knowing that no one would dare break in, especially since theft on campus was ruled with an iron fist, Taylor pushed the door open and headed inside, making a beeline straight for the _Els Dimonis Mortals D'aigua _to pick up where she had left off.


	12. Chapter 11

Available for download in PDF. I promise you that I don't have any viruses. I just **strongly recommend **it seeing as this was written in book format. Visit the Tumblr dedicated to this series, "11785", for details.

Or just read it here (:

ELEVEN

West Willow Motel  
Willow, Connecticut  
Saturday, October 7, 2006  
5:18 PM

**T**here had to be something that connected the victims, there always was, that much John knew for sure. But what he didn't know was what that link was and where to find it, leaving him stranded as he stared harshly at the mark-up of the case on the wall. Articles, blue prints, and maps took up most of the papered sheetrock, with post-its surrounding each with tidbits of information that might prove either helpful or worthless. On the table next to him, files from the police station sat open, splayed out for easy viewing from across the room. Still, none of it pointed to an association between both Molly Walter and Natalie Hollbrook.

So far, John only knew two things about the case he was working—what the creature he was dealing with was, and how to kill it—but neither of those things could be considered helpful when the missing components consisted of where to find it or how to track its pattern. Back when he had first started hunting, the latter had always been the easiest part of the job, the research coming the quickest with all the down time between cases. In the mid-eighties, only a few years after he had begun, demons and spirits were rarities, maybe appearing once every other month, or even once a year, depending on the area he was tracking and level of past activity. Recently, with the thing that had killed Mary rising again, the supernatural was pouring out of every crevice imaginable, making it unmanageable for even the most seasoned of Hunters in the network. In the past, John would be able to discover what he needed at his leisure, reading informative books in between incidents to fill the gaps in time, sometimes taking off for weeks to hunt something down that didn't seem to be an immediate threat. But now, everything felt rushed, as though it had to be taken care of quickly before all hell could break loose—literally.

It wasn't as though John despised have to speed up his work—in fact, he enjoyed it more that way—but with the intensity came an overwhelming sense of something being missed, as though the sudden swell in the abnormal was being used to distract him from his true goal. Before he had been made aware of what was happening in Willow, John had been on track to finding the gun he needed to kill the demon; or was _rumored_ to, anyway. For some reason, the idea that the case hadn't been that far away unsettled him, almost as though the disappearing girls were being used to sideline his hunt for the mythical gun he was becoming foolish enough to believe in. On top of that, to find his daughter and her friend in town, working the same gig, proved something was up, though on what side the strangeness came from, he still didn't know.

But, as much as he didn't want to drop what he was doing and what he was searching for, John had a duty to protect people, and that was his job. Though he recently began sending the cases he had heard through the grapevine to Sam and Dean, knowing that they would take care of it, this one was too close to forward to them, especially since he knew they were currently caught up in something in New York. However, to discover that Amelia and her friend were within arm's reach, doing the same as his sons and working as a team to dig up whatever they could on this case, John had been a mixture of disappointed and angered. If there was anything John could want for his kids, it would be a life away from demons and spirits. Unfortunately, for his boys, that was already too late, Amelia still had a chance.

Ultimately, though, it seemed as though no matter how hard he tried to keep the girl away from the life she shouldn't have, the life John had promised her mother she _wouldn't_ have, he couldn't keep her out of it. After a two-hour stint at the police station, talking over the details of the case with an officer and pretending to be genuinely uninterested in helping— claiming to just be there due to the Special Agent in Charge wanting to cover all the bases in terms of any situations that might be beyond police control, the attitude he sensed the sheriff would want, though he didn't know why—John had managed to walk out of the building with two thick folders full of similar past occurrences and current write-ups. However, just as he was about to walk out the door, John had spotted Amelia talking to another cop a few feet away, noticing that the girl was there trying to retrieve the belongings that had been taken from her the moment she had been arrested. Though he knew the girl could see him, John had slipped out the front door in a hurry, leaving her behind to fend for herself—and hopefully head straight back to school.

Putting it out of mind by the time he returned to his motel room at the very corner of West Hartford, John had solely focused on the task at hand, realizing right off the bat that he was dealing with a _criatura de l'aigua_, a type of spirit that dwelled in dark spaces and attacked small children. Meaning literally "creature of the water" in Catalan, this type of thing was easy enough to spot, tipping John off as soon as he heard the specifics of the case. In most instances, _criatura _snatched children from their bed using a form made entirely of water, a type of protection against any sort of weapon that might be used on them to stop them from achieving their goal. As soon as the kid was in custody, it usually disappeared into a puddle, literally melting and solidifying again once back in their lair. The minute they reach their base, the _criatura _keep the children captive until they have enough for a meal, usually containing three or more at a time for a feast, never less.

But there was something about the _criatura_ that snagged John's attention, a detail that was easy enough to miss if not for his trained eye. Most of the time, such a creature wasn't seen unless summoned or held in custody until it was released. For this thing to be out roaming, that meant that either it had been set loose or it had found a way to freedom. Either way, someone had to have initially called the thing, but as to who or why, or even when, was still a question to be answered.

Deciding to put everything he had into it, John had taken the time to reread every past related incident, making notes of each similarity before sticking the information on the wall around the maps he had scribbled on, making red marks over where the two current victims lived. Finding that there was something comparable occurring every ten years leading up to now, the first to be reported on happening in October of 1976—though the write-up mentioned something similar happening before but never officially filed—John had marked the houses of the previous attacks in a different colored pen, discovering that none of them lined up in any way. Turning to the blueprints of town, the glorified sketch that had been made back when Willow had become its own established area in 1916, John found that none of the houses had been built on anything that would send up a red flag, seeing that the place beforehand had been nothing but a mound of dirt that had been leveled and dug into to make a small pond in the dead center of town.

Unfortunately, with nothing to point John in the right direction, the only choice he could make was to leave his motel to begin manually searching for where the _criatura_ was hiding out during the day. From what John knew, the things usually liked cold, damp, dark places, usually miles from civilization to ensure that the kids they captured wouldn't be able to go far if they escaped. Knowing that Hartford bordered one side of Willow, leaving the three other flanks of town with nothing but abandoned industrial area to surround them, John was going to have to search high and low for a clue as to where it could be holed up, something that would keep him from having to comb through countless amounts of long-standing homes and buildings that had been decades forgotten in an attempt to find it.

Turning his attention toward the police reports on the table, John took a seat to begin poring over them, looking for something that might give him an indication as to where the creature had been lodging before. Scanning through handwritten accounts, typewritered forms, and affidavits claiming that everything contained within the folder was as true as possible, he searched for city names and town codes, hoping to find something that would narrow the playing field. Eventually, at the tail end of a document dated the fifth of October in 1996, somewhere called Chicklow was mentioned, though the town was somewhere John had never heard of. Narrowing his eyes to look at the map tacked to the wall in the dim light, John could see that the place wasn't too far off from Willow, appearing to be nothing but an abandoned field, or so the helicopter-view photograph depicted.

Getting up from his chair to grab his keys and his coat, checking the gun stashed inside the breast pocket for ammo, John shrugged on his jacket before heading for the door, knowing that as soon as he put the _criatura_ in the ground, he would be able to move onto bigger and better things. Thankfully, if he were to find this thing stooping somewhere in the basement of an abandoned house or factory, he would be able to put it down with a single bullet to the head, the creature being easy enough to kill once it became its solid, unprotected form, one that looked eerily similar to the Creature from the Black Lagoon. However, John wasn't about to count his chickens early, knowing that finding the thing was just about as difficult as waiting for it to get out of its liquid, defensive state. _Criatura_ became nearly invisible in dense lighting when they returned to their watery shape, giving them the advantage on anyone who didn't have extremely acute eyesight. However, that was a thought for later, _after_ he had stumbled upon the thing. But now that he knew where to look, it was only a matter of time until he found it.

Taking a step out into the fading gray day, John paused in the doorway to peer around at the cement lot of the motel, his senses picking up at the sight of a blue Hyundai parked not far from where his truck sat idle. Narrowing his gaze at it as he walked toward his own vehicle, and finding nothing strange aside from the purple Avis sticker sitting on the left-hand corner of the hood, John ignored the prickling sensation as he slid behind the wheel and started the engine of his truck.


	13. Chapter 12

Available for download in PDF. I promise you that I don't have any viruses. I just **strongly recommend **it seeing as this was written in book format. Visit the Tumblr dedicated to this series, "11785", for details.

Or just read it here (:

TWELVE

West Willow Motel  
Willow, Connecticut  
Saturday, October 7, 2006  
5:18 PM

**A**my paced the length of the motel room she and Taylor occupied, trying to get her bearings on what her friend was laying out for her. Apparently, during the few hours that she had been holed in up their dorm at Yale, and leaving Amy to fend for herself forty miles away, Taylor had spent the entire time looking for information on whatever they were facing—though the fact that they were still looking into the weirdness in Willow after John had told them to go home wasn't an irony that was lost on either of them.

After spotting the man at the police station, and watching him slip out through the front entrance in a clear message of avoidance, Amy had taken her returned belongings and left. Checking to make sure everything was there as she headed out of the building, this time grabbing a taxi and paying for the short ride back into town with some of the cash she had in her wallet, Amy had been unsure as to what her next step was. It was obvious that she was going to have to get back to New Haven somehow, but with renting a car not being an option—she was exactly a month away from twenty-one and none of the places in Connecticut rented to anyone under the legal drinking age—and with the estimated ride back in a cab being just over a hundred and fifty dollars depending on traffic, she was going to have to sort out what she wanted to do. Deciding that she was too tired to think, she had checked into the motel the West Hartford taxi driver had suggested, one that was out of the way and within Willow limits.

Once she was inside, however, Amy had only managed to get an hour of sleep before her phone rang. Grabbing it off the bedside table where it had been sitting, she glanced at the caller ID before slinking back under the covers, wondering what Taylor could have to say or if her friend had been busted driving a stolen vehicle and had used Amy as her one phone call. Flipping open the silver mobile, Amy listened while Taylor went on about decoding the first few chapters in the _Els Dimonis Mortals D'aigua_, discovering an online software that sped up the process. Not sure how to cut her off, especially since she was heeding John's words that they stay out of it, Amy barely tuned in as she stared at the ceiling, only faintly hearing as Taylor prattled on about something called a _criatura de l'aigua_, a type of spirit that dwelled in darkness and attacked small children. According to her, the thing could morph out of completely liquid or completely solid forms, and the only way to kill it was when it was dense enough to shoot at.

"Shoot at?" Amy had laughed over the phone. "Where are we going to get a gun?"

Pausing at the question, Taylor had ignored it after a long moment as she continued, giving Amy more and more details about the creature that was snatching kids out of their beds. Apparently, the thing liked to wait until children reached the age of nine or ten to attack, biding time and only showing up every decade or so, though why it waited so long was lost on both Amy and Taylor. According to what she had read, however, Taylor was fairly certain the _criatura _alwaysbid its time in dark, abandoned places not far from where it was prowling, meaning that if they managed to narrow down where it was laying low, they would be able to put it down. Still, the question of where they were going to get a firearm seemed to be the most prominent issue, one that neither of them could solve, keeping them from moving forward on looking for the thing—a detail Amy was thankful of.

Unfortunately, the obvious roadblock didn't seem to slow Taylor down, who had immediately suggested meeting Amy to start the search. Wondering how the girl was going to show up, especially since Enterprise had already blocked her from renting a car and Amy wasn't about to rendezvous with her in a stolen vehicle, Amy had tried to push the suggestion aside, wanting more than anything to go back to sleep rather than head out on a wild goose chase. Eventually caving into Taylor's persists, Amy filled her in on where she was staying, listening to the line go dead a moment later. Snuggling back under the sheets, Amy made to close her eyes, placing her phone blindly on the table and trying to fall back asleep.

Ultimately, though, the effort was soon deemed fruitless. As she tossed and turned, trying to become comfortable, certain that she would easily doze off after traipsing around town for hours following no sleep the night before, her body began to get restless, almost as though a spike of adrenaline was reacting to Taylor's suggestion that they continue to hunt the thing sweeping through Willow. Kicking under the blankets in an attempt to waste the sudden burst of energy away, Amy buried her head before getting up to cross over to the bathroom portion of the room, getting into the shower to wash off the vigor with scalding hot water. By the time she stepped out, her muscles feeling more relaxed than before, sleep began to crowd her senses again. Blow-drying her hair, Amy changed back into the only set of clothes she had with her and made for the bed, only to be interrupted by a sudden knocking at the door.

Not even needing to check through the peep hole to see who it was, Amy opened the door to allow Taylor to walk in, watching as her friend set a pair of keys with a purple Avis tag and what appeared to be a new wallet down on the table underneath the window. Glancing her up and down, Amy could see that she hadn't been the only one to take a shower, though Taylor had clearly changed into clothes that was meant to butter up whichever male rental attendant she had been speaking to. With tight jeans, a low-cut top, and a cardigan that only buttoned so far, Amy wondered how easy it had been for her short, shapely friend to have gotten what she wanted from whatever guy was behind the counter.

Pushing the thought away as Taylor took a seat on the bed she had been eager to climb back into, Amy began to pace as the other girl attempted to fill her in on every detail she had learned while researching back in Dwight Hall. Listening to everything, if only for curiosity's sake, Amy's mind began to swim at what was being said. According to some of the finer print when it came to the _criatura_, the only way to take them out was to put a bullet in their head, and apparently the only time to do so was after dark. Also according to Taylor, the things took children and ate them, but only after snatching three from their homes. Apparently, the thing had a large appetite and would only eat three at a time, nothing less, and would continue to hunt until its pallet was sated. Knowing that creature, as far as she knew, only had a pair of girls at the moment, Amy had a feeling that indicated that the third attack would be tonight.

However, Amy and Taylor were supposed to be back at Yale, not sitting in a motel room thinking over what the _criatura's_ next move was. If John caught them, they would both be dead meat, and he would probably drag them back to school himself. For some reason, Amy had the feeling that John was territorial and didn't want anyone honing in on the jobs he was working, especially when the person cramping his style was his own uninformed daughter. In the few months that Amy had been with him during the summer, she had been able to tell a few things about John Winchester, the first and foremost being that the man seemed to contain a rage that was comparable to a hurricane. In the way he moved and the way he spoke, it was almost as if he had to hold back a fury that was threatening to overtake him, as well as a sadness that seemed to weigh on him. And Amy, who didn't like anyone to be mad at her, wasn't about to test the man's threshold for withholding his anger by taking a chance at killing a creature by stepping on his turf.

Unfortunately, based on the way Taylor's resolve seemed to be written on her face, Amy was going to have to either leave her friend to do what she would on her own or join in for the sake of making sure nothing happened to the other girl. Knowing that the latter was probably a more likely outcome than the former, Amy stopped pacing to lean against the table near the window, running her hands through her hair and slumping her shoulders. In all honesty, Amy wasn't exactly jumping at the chance to take down some abnormal thing, remembering the fight between her and Bailey in Swing Hall and how dangerous and bloody that had quickly become. To take on something that didn't even have a solid form, something that could snatch people and disappear, seemed like something to be left for a more weathered "Hunter"—a term the sheriff had called them, though she didn't really know why. John was probably more than capable when it came to dealing with these types of things, and for Amy and Taylor to walk in and even try to kill the _criatura_ would probably result in both of them being sent back to the hospital… or worse.

Reaching behind her to touch where the scar on her back was, Amy pawed at the cloth of her t-shirt and let her mind wander. For some reason, the fact that the sheriff of West Hartford had reacted to them in the way that he had—like an overdramatic child that had been caught, storming off in a huff—bothered her more than Taylor supposing they try this one on their own. In the time that she had been away from the police station, Amy hadn't given it much thought, instead ignoring it for other things; but now that she truly dwelled on it, she was beginning to find a hitch in the details. Did the local PD know what was going on in Willow, but choosing to ignore it? Or did they condone it? Or was there something else going on that Amy didn't see, maybe something that the sheriff and his officers were behind that they were trying to cover up? But then, if they honestly were trying to cover it up, how did the local newspapers get away with printing it, _twice_? Was there some scorned parent out there who had experienced an attack in the past that was trying to ask for help now, after noticing the signs this time around?

Head swimming, Amy stared down at the blue carpet underfoot, trying to keep back the flashes of the officer's stare that had matched the deep cobalt color. At the moment, it seemed all her brain wanted to do was analyze what had happened from the time that they had entered David Hollbrook's house to the second they had been released from the precinct. It was as though her mind was trying to tell her something, that there was a snag in the plan somewhere that was obvious if she just _looked_ instead of contemplated.

However, before she could focus on it, the sound of a door beside theirs slamming shut knocked Amy out of her thoughts and caused Taylor to jump to her feet. Looking at her friend, Amy narrowed her eyes as Taylor rounded the table, peeking through the curtains and watching something out in the parking lot with a grin on her face. Turning to do the same, Amy bunched her jaw as she glimpsed at the gap in the drapes, wondering if the universe was intent on keeping her within arm's length of her biological father. Heading toward his massive black truck, something that had been absent when she had arrived at the motel, John passed a blue Hyundai parked directly next to him in the expansive lot, eyeing it suspiciously before getting behind the wheel and taking off.

Grabbing her keys from the table, Taylor went to follow, stopping only as Amy grabbed her arm to pull her back. Holding on for a moment, as though testing to make sure she didn't feel any squirming in her gut, Amy released her friend after a long minute, wondering how the girl could have known that both Amy _and _John Winchester were staying at the West Willow Motel. The coincidence had been too odd, almost as though she had outside knowledge, and the look on her friend's face seemed to portray that. With a smug grin and a cocky gaze, the other girl's stare met Amy's curious eyes for a moment. What was going on with Taylor? What was going with this town? Hell, what was going on with her _life_?

"We're not going after him," Amy said firmly, finally mustering the courage to call the shots for the first time in a long while. "John told us to stay and we're staying. We're _not _interfering in this, okay?"

"No, actually, we so are," Taylor said, smiling.

"No, we're not. He said—"

Cutting her off, Taylor held up a hand. "I heard him, and I heard you. Doesn't mean I have to listen."

Flipping the key ring around her finger, Taylor turned and left the room, heading for the only car remaining outside. Getting into the driver's seat but leaving the door open, Taylor continued to grin, a challenge written on her face. Staring at her friend through the windshield, Amy narrowed her eyes as Taylor beckoned for her. Not sure what to do or whether or not to follow, Amy reached for the motel key and locked the door behind her, slipping the small piece of metal into her pocket when she was done. Crossing the lot, Amy swallowed hard as she slid into the passenger's side, glancing at Taylor as her friend prepared to take off.

"You're such a pushover, Aims," Taylor smirked, starting the engine.

_Don't I know it_.

Frowning at the remark and slumping in her seat, Amy turned to stare out the window as the Hyundai made to follow the trail of dust that John's truck had left behind.


	14. Chapter 13

Available for download in PDF. I promise you that I don't have any viruses. I just **strongly recommend **it seeing as this was written in book format. Visit the Tumblr dedicated to this series, "11785", for details.

Or just read it here (:

THIRTEEN

Abandoned Warehouse  
Chicklow, Connecticut  
Saturday, October 7, 2006  
7:20 PM

**T**he sun was beginning to sink on the horizon as Taylor sped after the black truck she had finally caught up to. It had taken her nearly twenty minutes to find it on the labyrinth of streets leading out of Willow, past West Hartford, and toward Farmington, but had eventually spotted the intimidating vehicle blazing out of town on the empty Meadow Road heading for Chicklow.

As she trailed behind Amy's father, Taylor shot glances to her friend in the passenger seat, noticing that she looked a combination of bothered and upset. Though Taylor had a feeling both of those had been brought on by the suggestion that the two of them trail behind John Winchester to find out where he was going, something Amy obviously didn't want to do, she couldn't help but sense that there was more to the story other than that, almost as if there was some internal thought that was bothering the girl. While they drove, Taylor attempted to coax it out of her, but Amy wouldn't budge, instead remaining silent and distant on the other side of the car, staring out at the passing trees through the window to her right.

In all honesty, Taylor was beginning to be glad this thing was coming to a close, or so she had a feeling it was. With the ups and downs and overall roadblocks that the case had encountered, she was already tired of having to deal with what was happening. At first, she had thought it interesting, looking into creatures and learning about them, discovering where they lived and how to get rid of them, but applying that knowledge when it came to hunting something down was more difficult than the theory provided. Sitting in her dorm room, reading about how beheading is the only way to kill a vampire or spirits could be put to rest by salting and burning their bones was one thing, but going out and actually utilizing that knowledge was another. Truthfully, this had become more difficult than it was worth, and Taylor wasn't exactly jumping to rush into another situation like this—right thing to do or not.

For some reason, though, Taylor blamed her change in mind on Amy and her lack of enthusiasm from the get-go. From the very start, the girl had been hesitant and wishy-washy, changing her mind about whether or not she wanted to help at every step of the process. Having to deal with her was just about as difficult as having to deal with the creature they were hunting down, which seemed about as frustrating to narrow in on as trying to sort through whatever Amy might be thinking. However, Taylor knew she couldn't entirely blame her friend. Amy had chosen to help under the impression that she was making a decision that would benefit people, despite the fact that doing so would cause her to miss classes and her ever-important rehearsals. She was doing a good thing, and even though she kept switching her stance, she had stuck by it in the end.

Unfortunately, there was something more than just her friend's fluctuating thoughts that bothered Taylor, though she kept them on the backburner. The reason, which she would never admit to anyone, that she was becoming less and less excited about diving into doing this regularly was because of what it was doing to her. After only two days, Taylor had managed to get arrested, steal a car, and cheat a second rental place into giving her a loner by dressing provocatively to compensate for the fake ID she had used—one she normally kept stashed in her dorm room. Though the identification was at least three years old with an obvious pseudonym printed across it, and had been made when she was still under the legal drinking age, Taylor had always been too scared to chance its authenticity. Ultimately, with her back against the wall, she had no choice but to try it. Knowing that rental dealers had to check driving records before loaning out a vehicle, Taylor did all she could to distract the guy behind the counter, causing him to forget a few steps of the same procedure Taylor had gone through at Enterprise. Donning the most form-fitting clothes she owned, and actually taking a shower for the first time in the past two days, Taylor had primped herself before heading over, bending against the counter to flash her cleavage at the attendant whenever he made a move to use the computer.

Rolling her shoulders back and shaking her head in shame, Taylor frowned at herself as she kept her distance behind the black GMC truck, instead tuning into the music Amy had taken a break from staring aimlessly outward in order to put on. Though the station playing on the provided XM service wasn't exactly what Taylor would choose listen to while chasing down supernatural beings and tailing behind an otherwise stranger, the melancholy sounds of Death Cab for Cutie seemed to spread a thoughtful calm over the inside of the car, making it seem almost as though they were having a pensive moment leading up to what was undoubtedly going to become a fight. As Amy gazed out the window while the song switched to "I Will Follow You into the Dark", Taylor could tell the meditative sense that the music was providing was taking an effect on her friend, with her eyes fluttering shut every few minutes before she jerked herself awake.

Smirking as she placed her stare back on the highway, Taylor watched as John drifted off to the side of the road and slowed to follow him, stalling behind a group of trees that dropped off at the point in which he had turned. Noticing that a stretch of gravel lead to an abandoned house sitting a half mile from the street, Taylor inched the car closer to see around the brush, keeping her foot firmly on the brake. Beside her, Amy perked up and leaned against the dash to watch as John exited his truck outside of the building, the home looking as though it had been left to rot nearly fifty years ago. Passing through what had once been a front door and was now a boarded up gap, John disappeared inside, his hand gripping a silver gun that glinted in the fading daylight.

"Should we—" Taylor began, only to snap her mouth shut as John appeared a moment later, hopping back inside his truck and taking off. "Never mind."

Reversing the blue Hyundai into a shaded part of the shoulder, Taylor waited for the truck to rumble past and head in the direction it had previously been pointed. Pausing a few seconds, Taylor switched back into drive and continued her pursuit, wondering if John was going to check inside of every deserted house along the stretch of highway they were on. Though there didn't seem to be many, just landscapes of dried yellow grass, it was possible that the man was going to head in and out of each abandoned building between where they were currently traveling and Burlington. Knowing that it was better to be thorough, especially when dealing with something that dwelled in such places, Taylor shrugged to herself, not bothered by the idea of waiting for Amy's father to rush into a building and come out again. However, as soon as something seemed odd, Taylor was going inside as well, not giving a damn whether or not Amy _and _her dad had told her that this wasn't her business.

As the truck pulled off the road again, Taylor did the same as before, lying in wait in the bushes not far from where the brick home sitting discarded was positioned. While John headed in and out again, Taylor reversed further than the first time before following the man's lead westward, glancing at Amy as a troubled look came over her face. Narrowing her eyes, Amy honed in on what appeared to be a vacant factory sitting down the road, most likely the place John was headed next. Suddenly, the more her friend kept her eyes on the building, the more a sense of static electricity began to rise in the car, almost as if the overhead power lines were emitting too much energy.

Sitting rigidly, Amy kept her eyes fixed as John's truck barreled in front of them. "That's where we need to go."

* * *

John tried to suppress an irritated groan as he glanced in his rearview mirror, spotting that damn blue Hyundai behind him once more. It had been following him for the past hour, keeping a distance that was neither covert enough to be considered coincidental nor close enough to be considered tailgating. Even after he had pulled off the road twice, it was still behind him, but John knew for a fact that it was there for a reason—one he had strictly ordered against outside of the West Hartford police station.

As he drove past towns leading through Connecticut, John equally divided his attention between glancing at the car behind him and watching for deserted buildings that might be home to the _criatura_. Finding two so far that had been nothing but an abandoned mess of dust and splintered wood, John had been resolute to find the dwelling of the thing he desperately wanted to put down. At this point, between being trailed by Amelia and her friend in that blue excuse for a vehicle and the gnawing feeling in his gut that told him to put this one behind him as soon as possible, John was ready to get this over and done with. As soon as he did, he would be able to get back to what he had been doing before this job had aroused his suspicions: watching after his kids and tracking down the Colt, his one chance at kicking the demon's bucket once and for all.

Heading down the highway leading toward Chicklow and Burlington, or so he recalled from the map tacked to the wall of his motel room, John spotted a steel industrial building that caught his attention and sent his senses into high alert. As he neared the large, rusted factory, quickening his pace to get closer faster, John had a feeling that this would be where he would find what he was looking for. As long as those girls behind him didn't get in the way, he could gank the creature in question and get on with his normal routine of digging up things the demons didn't want him to find. That was, however, if his gut feeling was right—which, more often than not, usually was.

Pulling off and speeding toward the edifice colored a deep orange that covered the original steel, John stopped the car abruptly and reached for the gun he had placed in the passenger's seat. Checking the clip, out of habit more than anything else, he replaced it and hopped out of the cab of his truck, his senses raising from a hurried heartbeat to a pounding pulse. Calming himself as he entered through the cutout that had once been the front door, John held his gun poised as he headed inside, noticing that the interior of the factory was much darker than he had anticipated. Reaching into his coat pocket, John retrieved a small flashlight, holding it pointed in the direction of his weapon.

Walking slowly around the straw flooring, John made a complete sweep of the inside, checking every nook and cranny for evidence before making a trip down the basement stairs. Nine times out of ten, _criatura _were found underneath the floorboards, usually hiding in cellars and other places where light was unlikely to filter in. As he opened the door to the steps, a loud screech coming with the motion, the sound of a car idling outside caught John's attention, temporarily distracting him. Deciding to ignore it as he descended his way through the building, John was careful not to slip in the darkness, the stairs more slick than he had expected—probably due to the _criatura_ trekking up and down. Though the creature could appear and disappear in puddles of water, it could only make long distance trips in that way, meaning that every other motion had to be done in the way of humans. For some reason, John had the feeling that the thing had climbed after an escaped child, finding small, muddy shoe prints on the steps beside where he walked.

Finally reaching the bottom, John passed his flashlight over the basement, noticing that it contained nothing more than a handful of wooden crates and yet more straw. Keeping quiet, John neared the closest crate, tapping on it with the butt of his flashlight and waiting for noise. Inside, the sound of quiet quivering answered him back. Glancing around the top of the container, John noticed air holes had been poked into the lid, though the rest of it was sealed shut with nails, almost as though someone had been getting ready to ship cargo. Eyeing the room for something to wedge the box open with, John spotted a slat of plywood resting against the wall. Grabbing it and shoving it as roughly as possible underneath a bent nail, John attempted to pry open the lid, only loosening it before something tore his focus away.

From behind, a pair of cold, slimy hands gripped John around the shoulders, yanking him away from what he was doing and tossing him into a wall across the room. Jumping to his feet, John pointed his gun and flashlight around the space, noticing that the creature the strong hands belonged to was gone, or had become nearly invisible in the darkness. Reappearing a moment later, the _criatura _rushed at John, which he quickly avoided, firing off a shot though he knew it would be of no use. As the creature's watery form exploded at the elbow, seeming to not affect it one way or another, it charged him again, knocking John into the wall once more and keeping him pinned there.

Suddenly, the sound of sneakered footsteps on the stairs took John's stare away from the thing fixing him in a chokehold against the slat of steel. Noticing that Amelia was heading down toward him, jumping the last few steps and landing ungracefully on her heels, he was a mix of relieved and furious. In the small light the stray flashlight provided, John could see that his daughter was narrowing in on the _criatura_, as though she would be able to rip it away from its current task. Stopping her short, John raised an arm to backhand the creature, sending it spiraling toward the ground. As he hit the straw underfoot after being dropped, John swallowed hard as he beckoned toward the crates, pawing at his sore neck.

"Get those kids out of here!"

Switching his attention back onto the fallen _criatura, _which had vanished again, John rushed for the flashlight and discarded gun, holding it at the ready for whenever the thing appeared. As he swept over the area containing Amelia and the crates, John narrowed his eyes as he saw her rip off the lids with ease, reaching inside to pull out the first kid and offering the small girl reassuring words before moving onto the next few holding cells. As the initial child remained in place, John watched as his daughter retrieved another kid from the last box at the very end, the other containers seemingly empty. Bending down in front of them, Amy spoke to both girls, leading them hand-in-hand toward the stairs and letting them go as the elementary-aged girls raced for the exit.

However, the small victory of freeing the victims was short-lived. As Amelia was about to cross the room, the _criatura_ appeared again, heading for John, who seemed to be the bigger threat of the two. Letting out a savage roar, the creature rushed for him, though John already had his attack ready. Grabbing the thing's arm just as it was about to clothesline him, John flipped it onto its back, watching as it disappeared in a spray of water.

"Did you just—" Amelia began.

"No," John cut her off, staring at the spot the _criatura _had vanished, knowing exactly why it had done so. "But it's on the move. Come on. We need to hurry."


	15. Chapter 14

Available for download in PDF. I promise you that I don't have any viruses. I just **strongly recommend **it seeing as this was written in book format. Visit the Tumblr dedicated to this series, "11785", for details.

Or just read it here (:

FOURTEEN

Westin Residence  
Willow, Connecticut  
Saturday, October 7, 2006  
9:12 PM

**T**aylor's rental car was gone by the time John and Amy Winchester emerged from the depths of the abandoned warehouse, leaving a trail of dust in her wake that told Amy her friend hadn't torn off that long ago. Around them, in the settling dirt that obscured some of the view down the road, darkness covered the deserted lot around them, with only the light of the full moon providing enough to see by.

Rushing for his truck, John jumped behind the wheel and started the engine, barely waiting while Amy slid into the passenger's side before taking off after Taylor. In minutes, the pair had already caught up to the blue Hyundai, with John swerving around the car and barreling past at what Amy could only assume to be pushing at least a hundred miles an hour—a speed she hadn't thought the monstrous, mid-1980s truck could handle. As they passed Taylor, Amy could barely get a glimpse inside, noticing that her bewildered friend had her eyes narrowed at the dark road and the two young girls perched in the backseat were sitting quietly.

While in the basement of the vacant factory, Amy had ripped the tops off the crates with ease, using only her hands and the rush of adrenaline that had come over her as soon as she had raced inside. Pulling the kids free as if rescuing a kitten from a thorny bush, Amy had taken them both by the hand and had spoken as calmly as possible to them, telling the girls to run up to the waiting blue car and to ask Taylor to take them home as quickly as she could. Helping them to the stairs, in case that thing appeared to head them off, Amy told the two to sprint away, hoping they would be up and out of the building before the creature could come back. Thankfully, with what seemed to be momentary luck, the _criatura _had been too slow to appear, allowing the kids to hustle to safety before it could take them hostage once again.

However, with the savage roar and the sudden evaporation into the ground, Amy had gotten the sense that their luck had faded, backed further still by John's sudden urgency to return to Willow—or so Amy assumed they were headed. Fortunately, the drive would give her time to think, something she hadn't been able to do after racing into the building. Of all the things that had happened during her time down in the basement, the creature's escape had been the least worrying, at least to her. As Amy had ripped those nailed-in, sealed-shut lids from the crates, she had felt something explode inside of her, almost like a sudden surge of strength had erupted in or around her heart, spreading throughout her limbs and allowing her to remove the tops of the containers as if they had been nothing but the pop-top on a ketchup bottle. What was more, just like when Bailey had attacked Amy, she had suddenly found the ability to fight back, something that had been summoned from seemingly nowhere, with tactics and strategies running through her head that she hadn't been given the chance to apply—John taking the opportunity from her as he battled the _criatura_ on his own.

_What's happening to me? _Amy swallowed as she stared straight out the windshield.

As she sat rigidly in the passenger's side of John's truck, Amy could tell that the rush of energy she had felt prior to entering the warehouse hadn't faded, instead becoming stronger the closer the two of them came to approaching Willow. Gripping onto the side of the leather seats to try to channel her sudden vigor into the foam, Amy crushed the cushion beneath her with her nails, causing her to let it go for a moment as she waited for the material making up the bench to puff back into place. Repeating the calming actions again and again as Farmington came into view, Amy could feel her heartbeat slow to a dull thud as John carried on, pushing the truck to its limits as it sped forward.

Finally, just as the town was coming closer, Amy managed to relax a little, sensing a new problem arising that needed addressing, one that she hadn't thought of in the time that she had been stressing over her sudden bursts of strength: how were they going to find the place the _criatura _had disappeared to? Turning to look at John, Amy bunched her jaw as she noticed the man's focused gaze, his eyes never veering from the road, not even when she could tell he sensed her stare. Rolling his shoulders back as a warning to keep her mouth shut, Amy followed his silent command, trying to sit still as the question began to fester. Did John even know, or was he just guessing that the thing had headed back to Willow? Had it returned to where it had been prowling, or had it chosen a new hunting ground, one where it was unlikely to get caught until morning? Or had they messed up enough to freak the thing out and send it into another state, where they would need to keep their eyes and ears on the newspapers to see whether or not the thing had picked up where it had left off?

Sighing, Amy nudged her head into the back of the seat and stared up at the roof of the truck, wondering what she was doing here and how she had gotten to this moment. As her fingers twitched with adrenaline and legs felt numb against the rumbling floorboards, Amy tried to calm herself by closing her eyes, sensing another burst of energy coming. Turning her thoughts away, she tried to think of anything other than the fact that she was currently hastening toward Willow at a breakneck speed, sitting beside John as they headed for a fight that might not end well. Instead, she focused on trying to recite her lines from _Barefoot in the Park_, hoping that the lighthearted play would distract her well enough to allow her to empty her mind for a moment.

"_Just now. It's suddenly very clear that you and I have absolutely nothing in common,"_ Amy mentally recalled._ "Don't oversimplify this! I'm angry. Can't you see that?_"

Unfortunately, before she could get any further than the scene they were supposed to run for blocking on Monday, Amy felt a very painful stab in her chest, something that came with another rupture of power. Letting out a muffled cry, Amy felt her back arch as she squeezed her eyes shut, trying to focus her thoughts on making the sting pass. Suddenly, as quickly as it had come, the feeling was gone, disappearing the moment John's truck rumbled beyond the sign welcoming them to Willow, Connecticut. Taking a sharp breath, Amy sat up straighter, deciding that her questions about how they were going to find the thing couldn't wait, the abrupt pain clearing her head of everything except what they were doing.

"How do you know where to look?" Amy asked calmly, still trying to collect herself.

"We'll hear it," John answered shortly, clipping his words.

Furrowing her brow as Amy glanced at John, she slumped in her seat at the irritation hidden underneath his tone, sounding as though no more questions would be tolerated or answered. Bunching her jaw as John pulled around the empty lot marking the beginning Willow's town square, Amy glanced in all directions as they turned onto Main Street, noticing that John was rolling his window down to listen. Slowing the engine to a quiet growl as the car coasted along the street with John's foot barely grazing the brake, Amy copied his movements as she focused her hearing outward, hoping to pick up on a strangled scream or something that would point them in the right direction. As John was about to make his way around the park that sat at the center of town for the third time, with resolve still evident on his face, Amy narrowed her eyes to look for any signs of light inside the homes facing the street, noticing that all of them were dark. Glancing at the clock on her cell phone, Amy checked the time, a sense of something being awry filling her gut.

"This isn't right," Amy muttered, swallowing hard. "Something's off."

Nodding as though he had already picked up on what she was saying, John stopped the truck outside of Main, killing the engine a moment to listen to the eerie quiet. For a second, Amy felt as though she were sitting at the helm of an abandoned town, one that had been left behind in some sort of silent boycott. As crickets chirped and the rustling of trees filled the overlying stillness, Amy held her breath to listen, wondering what was going on. Popping the door open on instinct, Amy glanced at John before sliding out of the truck, taking a few steps around the grill of the vehicle to walk into the street. As she headed toward the middle of Willow Lane, the street that ran perpendicular to Main, Amy felt a sense of electricity in the cool night air, one that charged her and caused her to feel renewed.

Suddenly, coming from the other side of the park, the sound of a high-pitched cry rented the calm, causing Amy to spring forward and race toward the strip of houses facing in her direction. Behind her, John's truck roared to life, tearing away from the curb he had been parked at in the sound and smell of burning rubber as he sped toward the direction of the scream had come from. Hopping out and reaching inside his coat pocket for the gun and flashlight Amy had previously seen, John jumped in front of her as she reached him and stood with his head turned down toward the pavement, his ears perked and obviously trying to determine which house the sound had come from. Eyes searching the façade of each residence after a moment, John finally chose the Colonial one next to where they were standing, clearing the three front steps in an impressive leap and kicking in the front door.

Following behind as another shriek came from upstairs, along with the pounding of fists against either walls or wood, Amy trailed John up to the second floor of the home, noticing that an adult couple stood helplessly outside of a closed-off archway. Parting as John announced himself as police, the two shrank to the floor just as the man poised his gun toward the knob of the door. Firing off a shot, Amy flinched at the noise, the smell of gunpowder biting the air and clink of a ricocheting bullet causing nearly everyone to jump. Standing a minute later when she was sure it was clear, Amy straightened up to see what John had done. Just beneath the handle punctuating the whitewashed wood, a tiny opening splintered through to make a peephole, one that John was now using to peek through.

"Amelia, false bottom of my truck, there's an axe. Get it. Now."

Nodding obediently, Amy glanced at the couple as they held each other, sitting against the wall of the hallway the door sat in with their eyes turned on one another. Seeming not to notice her as she passed, Amy descended the stairs two at a time before jumping the last handful, landing roughly before racing out to the truck. Opening the door to the driver's side, Amy dug under the mats and books sitting inside the cab, finding nothing that could be considered a blunt weapon or a trap door. Glancing around, Amy tried to find a spot she had missed, then turned to look at the bed of the vehicle, wondering whether or not John had given her indirect instructions in his fervor to get inside the room that was been blocked off.

Rounding to the tailgate, Amy quickly pulled it down and removed the canvas shielding the back, trying to find anything that could be used to break open the door inside the house. Stopping just beside the roped-down toolbox that had been securely fasted to bolts in the siding, Amy noticed something sitting underneath, a lever that had been imperceptible enough to miss in the dark. Yanking it, Amy swallowed hard as the sound of hydraulics followed, a sudden fear that she had broken something overcoming her. Thankfully, a moment later, a long, narrow cupboard toward where she had been standing at the end of the truck appeared, popping out to display an impressive set of stainless steel weapons that had obviously been recently cleaned. Finding an axe sitting at the base of what seemed to be an upside-down triangle of artillery, appearing as the cherry on top of the guns, knives, and crucifixes that all gleamed up in bright silver, Amy removed it from the padding it was encased in, pulling the lever again as she raced back inside the house.

Taking the stairs three at a time as she hurried to the second story, Amy waited until John removed his boot from where he had been roughly shoving it into the door before tossing him the axe. As he traded her with the gun he had been holding, something she hadn't been expecting, she caught it gingerly and watched as he began chopping at the wood, the sound of the screaming coming from inside reaching deafening levels. After a few minutes, the right half of the door was removed, giving John enough space to slip inside the room, snapping his fingers for the pistol again as he tossed the axe back to her. A moment later and the boom of a gunshot echoed throughout the house, causing the couple huddled in fear against the wall to shake in place. Offering them a small, reassuring smile before removing what was left of the door stuck in the frame, Amy shoved it open just as a young, redheaded girl raced for her, hugging her around the middle as she cried.

"Laura!" the woman to Amy's left cried, tearing the kid's attention away.

Running toward who could only be her mom just as Amy caught sight of John being tossed into a nightstand and breaking it, the girl headed for the couple, getting scooped up and taken away as the family started down the stairs and out the door. Watching them leave as the splintering of yet more wood carried from the other room, Amy turned toward the fight, unsure whether or not to jump in. For some reason, her body was screaming to get in the middle of the spar, wanting nothing more than to send a few solid punches toward the _criatura's _face, but her mind was telling her to stay out of the way and to let John handle it. From where she stood, even though she could see that John had been thrown into a bookshelf, she could tell that he had the upper hand in the fight, taking the creature down to its knees as it flickered from its water form to one more concrete, making it look as though it belonged in an old horror movie. Its hands and feet were webbed, its face resembled carp, and its body appeared to be made out of hard, black scales on a biped form.

Holding the gun at the ready with one hand, John fired off a shot, missing entirely as the _criatura _ducked and rushed him. Taking him down, the creature landed on top of him, using its slimy hands to shove John's head into the hardwood floor. Deciding now was the time to step in after waiting in the wings, Amy sprung forward, tugging the thing off of the man and sending it spiraling into the wall beside the bed. As it recovered quickly, charging for her, Amy flipped it onto its back, the creature up on its feet a moment later. Feeling her apparently underlying abilities boot up, bucking her into the passenger seat as some other force took over, Amy landed a roundhouse kick to the creature's side, sending it once again into the wall. Suddenly realizing the axe was still in her hand from when John had given it to her earlier, Amy swung at it, hitting the thing square in the chest and stepping back as it let out a primal scream.

"Get down!" John shouted behind her.

Without hesitation, Amy fell to the floor as six rounds were fired, each of them hitting the _criatura _in the head and spraying black blood everywhere. Shielding her face as the dark liquid rained onto her clothes, Amy buried her head under her arms, only listening as the creature's horrible shriek became an ear-splitting cry. Tensing herself for something more, she waited as the sound of something heavy hitting the floor came from beside her. Pausing a moment, Amy swallowed hard before looking up, finding herself only an inch from where the _criatura _had fallen and was now becoming a puddle of oily ooze. Narrowly missing the spreading fluid as the creature melted, Amy scrambled to her feet and backed up, keeping her eyes on the thing and ramming right into John.

Putting his hand on her shoulder, the two watched in silence as the thing disappeared, fading into the floorboard in a dark stain that looked as though it had been there for quite some time. However, their moment of triumph was short-lived. A second later and a dozen heavy footsteps rushed up the stairs behind them, the sound of guns clicking following closely behind. Tensing, Amy's heart hammered in her chest as John's hand firmly grasped Amy, both of them seeming to sense the same thing.

"Freeze! You're under arrest!"


	16. Chapter 15

Available for download in PDF. I promise you that I don't have any viruses. I just **strongly recommend **it seeing as this was written in book format. Visit the Tumblr dedicated to this series, "11785", for details.

Or just read it here (:

FIFTEEN

Westin Residence  
Willow, Connecticut  
Saturday, October 7, 2006  
10:33 PM

**S**heriff Dobbs stared straight at the back of the heads of the two people in front of him, his gun trained directly on the man whose shoulders protected the younger girl, one of the two females he remembered seeing in the interrogation room of the West Hartford precinct earlier in the day. As he kept his gun pointed at them, ordering them to remain in place or threatening to fire, he noticed that neither of them tensed as most did when faced with their current situation, instead keeping cool and holding their hands by their sides even after Dobbs had demanded them to hold them in the air.

At fifty-two, Sheriff Daniel Dobbs was getting tired of having to deal with these people, the Hunters that came in and out of the two towns his police station presided over. In the three decades that he had been enforcing the badge, the last one and a half of those as sheriff, he had seen his fair share of their kind, each of them showing up at the most inconvenient times and attempting to gain information in illegal fashions. In the past, when his father had been sheriff, he had seen Hunters come in under the guise of every government official imaginable—just like Mr. FBI in front of him—whereas others tried the indirect approach, asking around town and infringing on people's personal property a la Miss B&E beside the "agent". However, in the contest of which was worse, both of them were tied. While impersonating centralized officers and using a false persona in order to get good policemen to hand over documents and case files that would otherwise be unavailable to the public was a federal offense, breaking into homes and offices and whatever else was an equal misdemeanor, especially when it came to doing so in Willow, the town he had sworn to protect.

Of course, Dobbs' hatred for these Hunters wasn't just stemmed out of anything as smalltime as that, but rather from the thing he was trying to keep safe, the creature that lived outside of his jurisdiction but close enough to still be considered his to watch over. For the thirty years he had donned the shield, and during the time his father had held the position before him, Daniel had known about the _criatura de l'aigua _dwelling in Chicklow. From what his dad had told him, the creature held great fortune for his family, keeping them safe against all those who were opposed to their post as sheriff. Every ten years, whenever the thing rose for food, all the Dobbs men had to do was make sure it got its required sacrifices before sinking back into its hole, becoming out of mind and out of sight until the time came around once again. Along with that, it was their duty to make sure the tales of the missing children weren't reported in the news, keeping every Hunter within distance out of Willow until the _criatura_ vanished.

However, in the years that Daniel and his father had kept the secret and reaped the fortune the creature brought for them, only twice had the story leaked from between their fingers—the first time happening in 1966. At twelve years old, Daniel had watched how his father had dealt with the Hunter that had been poking around, calling his bluff as soon as Dad phoned the federal headquarters and learning that there was no Special Agent Tracey working for the FBI. When the threat of arrest rose, the governmental faker had fled town, putting Willow in his rearview mirror for good. Unfortunately, this time, with not only three Hunters digging for evidence, but also a leak at the local paper, Dobbs had a mess on his hands that he wasn't sure one call would fix, a mess that he had created himself. A week ago, his youngest son, Jeremy, had turned nine—the age at which Dobbs had first heard the tale of the creature, and the age in which he had passed it to his oldest boy. After relaying the tale of the "water demon", Dobbs had promptly eavesdropped on his son repeating it to an audience at school, his third grade teacher calling to discuss it afterwards, wondering if the boy was going the same head-in-the-clouds way of Molly Walter. Telling her it was just a story Jeremy had read in a book, Dobbs had reprimanded his boy in hopes that the tale would stay contained, but he was willing to bet any amount of money that Ms. Grace had quickly spilled the beans to the local paper, knowing that her neighbor worked for the _Hartford Sentinel_. Maggie Grace had always had a big mouth and a tendency to buy into gossip, and it would be no surprise at all if she had been the one to get the word out. Ultimately, though, when it came to picking the _criatura's _victims, Dobbs had had to leave the barren woman off the list, her apartment on the edge of West Hartford being both out of range and devoid of children.

Thankfully, though, even after experiencing a panic attack over what had gone wrong, Dobbs had managed to rectify his mistake, waiting for the second attack to take place and handling the case himself. Knowing that the insane were automatically discredited, Dobbs had had David Hollbrook committed to Arkham, sniffing out both the reporter and one of the Hunters when Doctor Greene called to tip him off that a Clara Thomas from the local paper and a Rachel Dawes from the Yale University medical school had come by to talk to him. Tracking down the former with ease, regrettably _after_ her article had been published—Doctor Greene's fault for waiting too long to make the call—Dobbs had threatened the woman out of writing anymore snippets on Willow, promising prosecution for slander if she did. However, the latter had been harder to uncover. Fortunately, after a tip-off from a watchful neighbor, Dobbs had put a stop to the searching, hauling the girl and her friend in and putting them in immediate lockdown—where they were supposed to stay, but hadn't. Though his officers, and a majority of the older townspeople, knew of what was happening and of the _criatura_, the new transfer officer from Wakefield, Massachusetts had apparently buckled at the sight of FBI credentials and released them, no questions asked, as well as given the agent enough information to bury the town alive. Unfortunately, by the time Dobbs had found out about it, the Hunters were already gone, probably holing up in a motel room somewhere nearby.

Waiting for either one of them to emerge or for night to fall, whichever came sooner, Dobbs had cut the power in order to allow the _criatura_ easier passage. Though no one knew which kid the thing was going to pick except for Dobbs—who had chosen three of Jeremy's more annoying classmates, the ones that he knew either irritated or picked on his son—chances were that the Hunters would have an even harder time narrowing down the choices in the dark. Ultimately, however, it appeared as though he had shot himself in the foot, knocking all the precinct's phones off the grid and rendering them unable to receive calls. By the time he found out that the Hunters were hot on the creature's trail, it was too late, and the thing that was supposed to protect the town and his family was gone.

As a father of two boys, Dobbs cared about nothing more than keeping them safe. When his wife had passed back in 2003, he had been left to take care of his thirteen- and nine-year-old sons, clueless and unaware of how to parent alone. In the three years that he had had practice, Dobbs was certain he was beginning to get the hang of it, learning to pick his eldest son up from soccer practice in anything _but _the police cruiser—Collin found it embarrassing—at five o'clock and to take Jeremy to his karate lesson at seven, fully dressed in his attire each time. In all honesty, Dobbs had always attributed his success with his kids as being a good luck charm brought on by the _criatura_, his father even saying so right before he had died in 2004. His finesse with children had always been absent, with Dobbs unable to focus on anything except for work, but with the creature watching out for them, he had always assumed his family was going to be okay. Now, however, with the thing lying dead as if nothing more than a puddle of blackness on the floorboards in front of him, what was going to happen? Everything was ruined and it was all because of the damn Hunters he held at gunpoint.

Gripping his weapon tighter, Dobbs kept the pistol in his hands narrowed on the back of the neck of the man in front of him, letting a few inches of air distance the muzzle of his gun from skin. Behind him, other officers stood at the ready, each of them training their weapons on the pair about to be faced with another arrest. On the way over, Dobbs had made sure to stress the point that these two were armed and dangerous, and that every precaution was going to be needed when dealing with them. Agreeing, and knowing what they were about to get into, his best men had followed him over, storming the place as though ready to make a drugs bust.

Unfortunately, by the time they got up the stairs, Dobbs had been hoping to walk in on a battle in progress rather than one that had already finished. As soon as he had seen the creature dead on the ground, an anger had come over him, one that he tried to keep a cool head about despite the bubbling fury in his gut. While he knew his men were with him all the way, if Dobbs began to open fire much like he wanted to, he wasn't sure how many would stick around after the fact. If Dobbs appeared unstable, it might cause his officers to question his sanity, something he couldn't afford.

"Special Agent Burton," Dobbs began with a suppressed sneer, deciding to forgo the round of unprovoked gunshots, "I don't remember you petitioning for a search warrant. Mind my asking your reason for being here?"

"Just doing my job, Sheriff," the male Hunter's deep voice replied before he turned to face Dobbs and the armed men, not bothering to flinch at the amount of pistols aimed at him. "Though I don't know why you need all this."

"Procedure."

Smirking, the Hunter shook his head as the younger girl pivoted to look at the rest of them, her eyes widening at the weaponry and her jaw falling open in shock. In the time that Dobbs had been able to go through her personal belongings, the ones she and her friend had managed to leave behind after being freed by the older man, he had seen that her name was Amelia Mae Winchester, one month to the day away from twenty-one, and a current student at Yale. It was the first time in a long time that Dobbs had been in possession of anyone underage from the university, though mainly it was because New Haven was home to all the pubs that served the young, drunken collegiates. The only reason for anyone to head so far north was during the St. Patrick's Day festival that usually ended in green fireworks and too many tinted beers. Fortunately, for both the bars and for the police, none of the establishments in or around Hartford served anyone that wasn't of age—something that was law, though unabided by places around the school.

Narrowing his gaze to take a good look at her, Dobbs could see a glint in her eye that was similar to that of the man standing a few inches taller than her. Switching his stare between the two, Dobbs noticed that there was more than just the glimmer that was similar, but also a few facial features. Recognizing that he might be faced with a father-daughter team—something that he had never heard of before, though he hadn't run into that many Hunters in the past—Dobbs turned his gun from the man to the girl, noticing that her eyes searched him curiously.

Suddenly, the man spoke, distracting Dobbs from his stare. "Hell of a procedure you got going on here."

"Better safe than sorry," Dobbs grinned.

"I'd have an easier time believing that you if you weren't keeping a _criatura _on a leash."

Snapping his mouth shut, Dobbs glared at the man as he smirked knowingly, nodding toward the gun in Dobbs' hand without switching his gaze. Understanding what he was asking—that the sheriff put down his weapon and walk away, probably demanding that his officers do the same—Dobbs scowled and chuckled sardonically, nearly barking as he spoke.

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"You do," the Hunter said without missing a beat, his tone knowledgeable. "You're probably one of those damn morons who believe the legend that those things are good luck to have around. Probably covering up its mess when it's done. Those things just eat and kill, they don't do anything more than that, Sheriff, and you've been feeding it."

"I don't—"

"That blood is on your hands, Sheriff."

Gripping the handle of the pistol, Dobbs held the gun straighter, training it on the Hunter in front of him. From behind, the sound of audible shouts of protest sounded as a shot was fired, the man and his daughter ducking as soon as the weapon went off. All at once, several things happened. Within a moment of the bitter taste of powder tainting the air, the feel of a sneaker colliding with his hands stunned Dobbs, knocking the gun away. Next came the warmth of strong, feminine hands and cold metal touching his skin as he was pressed roughly into the wall and handcuffed, though the girl behind him was obviously too distracted with something else to notice that Dobbs was already squirming away. Running for the stairs, Dobbs was half-way down before the same fingers grazed his uniform shirt, getting enough of a grip to pull him up the steps. Once again, Dobbs felt his face get pushed into sheetrock, though this time a much more stable and firmer set of hands held him there, these rough and calloused with age. From his left, Dobbs could sense his men standing ground behind him. Chancing a glance, he caught the six men holding down the fort, obviously all ready to go head-to-head with whoever challenged them. However, after the chick connected one swift kick with Officer Carmichael's ribcage, sending him flying down the hall, the rest began to retreat, sensing something about the girl that was a bigger threat than Dobb's undoubted wrath. Grinning into the wall, Dobbs laughed as he felt the cuffs get slapped on him again, this time with the assuring lock that they were correctly fastened. Feeling one of his own men tug him away, making it look like a routine arrest, Dobbs allowed himself to be taken out to the police cruiser, his heart sinking as the sense of defeat came over him. The _criatura_ was gone, the fortune his family had benefited from dying with it.

* * *

Amy glanced up at John as the officers filed out of the house, leaving the two of them alone as the flashing of lights signaled the departing policemen. Her body felt exhausted, her heart rate was slowed to a snail's pace, and her brain was running a mile a minute, none of her body functions seeming to be on the same schedule. As she stood against the wall, trying not to sink to the steps below her as her legs threatened to give out, she glanced back at John, who stood at the landing with an expression of deep irritation on his face.

"Are you okay?" Amy asked quietly, swallowing hard. Nodding slowly, John snapped out of his glower before heading down the stairs, not bothering to wait for Amy as he passed. Holding onto the banister as she followed, Amy trailed the man out the door, wondering if now was the time he was going to give her the silent treatment for disobeying his order that she stay out of his way. Deciding to test it, Amy bit her lip. "How did you know that the sheriff thought those creature things were good luck charms?"

"It's an old legend," John said after a moment.

Waiting for more of an explanation, Amy paused beside the passenger door of the truck while John climbed in, realizing that he wasn't about to divulge more than he already had. Taking a deep breath, and feeling her fingers begin to tingle, Amy bunched her jaw before using the frame of the rolled-down window to help herself into the cab of John's vehicle. This time waiting for her to get situated before taking off, John headed out of Willow and toward the freeway, easing onto I-91 toward New Haven.

As they drove, Amy was quickly reminded of the time during summer when John had barreled toward Chicago, coming back to the diner he had left her in looking as though he had gone twelve rounds with a block of cement. At the time, Amy hadn't known what John truly did for a living, figuring something was off but not really questioning it. Now that she understood that John killed supernatural beings professionally, the fight in Chicago made more sense. In fact, a lot of things made more sense now that she understood.

Relaxing into her seat and shutting her eyes for the forty-five minute drive, Amy rolled her head back and felt the cold wind on her face, trying to keep from falling asleep as the chill numbed her body. However, unable to fight the overwhelming urge to doze off, Amy accidentally slipped out of consciousness for a moment, waking just as the truck sped past the last exit ramp into New Haven.

"I think you missed it," Amy frowned, glancing back at the fading sign.

"I'm not taking you back to school," John replied. "We're headed somewhere else."

Swallowing hard, Amy tensed, unsure of what was happening. "Where?"

Narrowing his eyes at being questioned, John let out an agitated grumble. "Milford."


	17. Epilogue

Available for download in PDF. I promise you that I don't have any viruses. I just **strongly recommend **it seeing as this was written in book format. Visit the Tumblr dedicated to this series, "11785", for details.

Or just read it here (:

EPILOGUE

Abandoned Field  
Milford, Connecticut  
Saturday, October 7, 2006  
11:47 PM

"**A**gain!" John barked as Amelia thrust the kendo stick toward the training dummy sitting illuminated in the bright headlights of his truck, managing to hit the thing straight at the mark for the fifth time in a row. "Again!"

As he watched the girl go through the motions of about-facing fluidly and thrusting the pointed end of the bamboo sword into the heart of the wooden dummy—which had once been a coat rack taken from a motel room years ago, fashioned into the most stable teaching device he could create—John kept his eyes on Amelia while he paced around the area in which she worked, watching as she moved in perfect form as though she had been gearing up for this her entire life. The gracefulness told John all he needed to know about the girl, and all he needed to know about what she was. He just had to test his theory before he could confirm what he had supposed a long time ago.

Amelia's mother, Morgan Callahan, had been exactly like this, a perfect warrior in every aspect of the word, with strength, agility, and skill that surpassed even some of the most practiced of Hunters. When they had first met at that bar in Boston before Valentine's Day in 1985, her working as a waitress in order to pay the rent on a small studio apartment in South Boston, John had automatically assumed she had been nothing but another strapped-for-cash woman looking for tips as she worked tirelessly behind the counter, a woman just like all the others he had met while on the road. However, after an attack on Patty's Pub, one that had been launched by a demon searching for John, he had learned differently. As the bar cleared of screaming people running for the parking lot, only John and Morgan had remained, with the woman unleashing a fury unlike any he had seen before on the demon disguised as a trucker that had lit the west wall of the building on fire. Unfortunately, the creature had gotten the best of her, using its kinetic abilities to throw her across the room, causing enough of a distraction for John to send it downstairs.

At the time, the direct hit from a demon had been the first of many, probably in some early attempt to get John to stop his search for the thing that had killed Mary. He had only been on the hunt barely a year and a half by then, and had only just begun to start digging for clues, but already so much had been revealed to him, some things that he hadn't been able to put into place until much later—such as the fact that the demons were attacking because that was exactly what had killed his wife. Back then, his head had still been reeling with the information that had been dumped on him by Missouri Mosley back in Lawrence and the other things he had learned along the way—the most important at that moment in eighty-five being the lesson Pastor Jim Murphy in Blue Earth, Minnesota had taught him about exorcising pyrotechnically-inclined creatures like the one that had been standing in front of him.

After saving the waitress, Morgan as her nametag read, from the burning building, John had wanted nothing more than to bolt for the motel and take Sam and Dean out of town, as far away as possible from Boston. In those days, John was still the ex-military mechanic who was destined to do nothing else aside from settle down with a family and a house. The world hadn't hardened him yet, and the truth about Mary's death, and eventually about Sammy's future, hadn't broken his spirit—though his heart still yearned for his deceased spouse, then and now. But there had been something about Morgan that had reminded John of his wife, something that had caused John to act irrationally. Though the woman, who had been a leggy redhead with emerald eyes and a strong Irish accent, was the opposite in appearance and manner of Mary, John could sense the confidence and strength in her that he missed the most from the love of his life.

It didn't take long before they had found a motel room of their own, one a quick drive from the bar Morgan worked at, and it took even less time for the deed to be done. By the time John had finished, he had felt worse than after any supernatural encounter he had ever faced, almost as though he had cheated on his wife of twelve years, a feeling that dug a pit deep in his heart. Leaving town without so much as a goodbye, John had tried to put the incident in his rearview mirror, focusing on his sons and making sure to keep the incident out of his journal—aside from the fire and the demon attack. Ultimately, though, the occurrence didn't remain in his past for long.

A month later, John had gotten a call involving news he had never expected. Not sure what to do, he had kept his distance, his mind already overworked from the spirit case he was in the middle of. Putting it off for eight more months, John finally headed back to Boston, leaving the boys at Bobby Singer's for a few days and knowing that they were in good hands. As he appeared in the maternity ward at Carney Hospital just after Morgan had been taken into surgery for her cesarean, following the instructions Morgan's brother had barked on the phone hours ago, John wasn't sure what to do as he waited, leaving the building and taking a drive before returning the next morning to speak to Morgan. The conversation had been quick and to the point when he arrived, with John seeing the desperation of what Morgan was asking written plainly on her face: their daughter needed a name and she needed to disappear, to never know the truth and to never live the life of a Hunter.

Not asking any questions, John had chosen the name of his mother, remembering that his sons had already inherited theirs from Mary's side of the family, and kept his thoughts to himself—something he wouldn't have done in this day and age. Signing her birth certificate to seal the deal, and knowing that carrying the Winchester legacy with her was just as dangerous as Morgan supposed shouldering their infant child with Callahan would be, John listened as the woman informed him that Amelia Mae would be hiding in plain sight with distant relatives, and that their contact information and one other important thing would be forwarded to him in the event that something happened. Taking off the necklace from around her neck, John watched as Morgan dropped a silver-and-diamond crucifix into a heavy envelope before he left for good. Fourteen years later, the address and Morgan's private journal arrived, along with a letter detailing the reason behind the adoption and what the woman truly was.

In the six years since then, John had off-handedly learned some of all he could about Morgan's true identity, trying to keep the information to a minimum and refraining from asking any of his contacts for more details. Truthfully, the longer John was on the road, and with Sammy's ever-growing yearn to head off for college and leave this life behind, the more John forgot about the daughter who had been given away, his mind filling with more important things, such as the steadfastly disappearing signs of anything that would help him in discovering more about Mary's killer. However, there was still some intel that had stuck in his mind, such as the fact that Morgan's _condition _was heredity, though was sometimes known to skip a generation. In all honesty, John had been hoping that Amelia had managed to escape the life his sons had grown up knowing, instead remaining a normal girl who went to birthday parties and dances and graduated from school. Ultimately, the more John watched his daughter, the more he could see that she hadn't escaped at all.

"That's enough," John said suddenly, watching as Amelia drove the kendo stick so far home that it almost punctured the solid wood she was stabbing at. "Remember those roundhouses I taught you? Show me."

Pausing a moment as she stared up at him curiously, silently asking why he was asking her to do so, Amelia bit her lip self-consciously before going through the motions of pivoting to her left on one foot while the other collided with the head of the dummy, accidentally knocking it from its perch. Jumping back in surprise as the slab of wood skittered away, Amelia placed her hands over her mouth, her eyes searching John's in quiet apology. Shaking his head, and knowing that the device he had used to train Sam and Dean was probably better off destroyed, since he doubted either of his sons would be using it any time soon, John beckoned toward his vehicle, replacing the kendo stick in the hidden compartment under the truck's bed after Amelia carried it over.

Remaining still, John kept his eyes on the girl beside him, noticing that the familiar wave of exhaustion was coming over her, something that he knew was a side-effect of the sudden rush of strength, a deep tiredness that not even the loudest of alarms would be able to awaken. Though she was still a month away from her twenty-first birthday, he knew the signs for this thing showed early, coming intensely until the abrupt abilities leveled out and became manageable. By now, she was probably experiencing heightened senses toward the supernatural that became unbearable, a strength that was quintuple that of the strongest man, and a rush of adrenaline that came in uncomfortable bursts. Fortunately for her, as soon as she hit drinking age, she would be fine—changed and unable to escape the life the Winchesters lived, but fine.

The fact of the matter was, Amelia had it easy compared to what John had learned about Sam and the demon's plan for his other special children. Just as alterations were happening to his daughter, the same was happening to his youngest son in a way that was equally incontrollable, though it was darkness that gripped Sammy, rather than power alone. The more John thought about it, the more he hated the thing that had disrupted his life back in 1983, the demon that had taken everything from his entire family, and tainted one of his children. Though Sam didn't know it yet—and though John didn't know exactly _what _was happening to his boy, what kind of capabilities he might have manifested—he had gotten the raw end of the deal. Honestly, because of this, John was keeping his distance. Every time he watched his kid from afar, he could hear the nagging voice in his head that told him Sam was compromised. As much as he loved his son, he needed to stay away to figure out his next steps, to figure out a way to return him to normal—something that might never happen before the infection takes hold.

Knowing that that was more important that this, than discovering whether or not Amelia had inherited her mother's skills, John rounded to the driver's side of his truck, getting behind the wheel as his daughter got in on the other side. While he started the engine and turned his vehicle back toward New Haven, John wasn't sure what to say to the girl beside him. Though he wasn't a man of many words, something that had become a part of his personality during his years of hunting, it was his responsibility to inform Amelia of what was happening to her. However, the promise that had been written in the last line of Morgan Callahan's letter echoed in his head before he could say anything, the promise that he would keep the girl as far away from this life as possible. In all honesty, the vow overrode any sense of need to divulge the secret. Having those inherit abilities didn't mean that the girl couldn't be normal, at least until her capabilities were realized. She was supposed to have the life Sam wanted and the life Dean was supposed to have: a house, friends, stability. For some reason, even though it went against everything John was, he couldn't bring himself to lay the truth out for her just yet. He would be back when the time came.

Pulling off the freeway into New Haven, John navigated through the narrow streets leading to the university, debating whether or not to give her the thing hiding in the floorboard of his truck. Amelia had already been introduced to the world of monsters and demons, and giving her the journal Morgan had written in all those years ago would do nothing more than shine a more personal light on the subject. Giving her the book would be the same as when John had given his sons his own journal, almost as though it was the passing of the torch. Though he knew Amelia's mother wouldn't condone it, John had read it enough to know that it only contained information on creatures rather than private tidbits, causing it to read more like a reference guide than an actual diary. It would be just like when he had left her the book on demons, hoping to illuminate the confusion she undoubtedly had.

Deciding to go for it just as Amelia was getting out of the truck, John reached behind him to remove the floor mat under the back row of seats, pushing other things aside as he felt blindly for it. Finally finding the latch he had created long ago, John removed the book from underneath, feeling the cold, worn leather in his hand before holding it out for Amelia to grab. "I want you to have this."

Swallowing hard as she reached for it, her eyes searched John's face. "What is it?"

"It was your mother's," John answered nodding. "It might explain a few things."

Standing speechless, Amelia bit her lip as she hugged the journal to her chest, the words she wanted to say obviously fighting for a way out as her mouth worked to sputter both "thank you" and "oh my god". Grinning to himself, John reached over to shut the open door on her side, switching the truck's gears from park to drive and keeping his foot on the brake for only a moment longer.

"I'll see you around, kid."

* * *

In Dwight Hall, Taylor paced the length of the common room, impatience overcoming her as she tried to recall what had happened over the last few hours at the same time as her brain attempted to tell her that something was wrong and that Amy was in trouble. It had been over three hours, why wasn't her friend back yet?

As she walked, Taylor remembered taking those two kids back to their respective homes, having to drive Natalie Hollbrook all the way to Norwich in order to reunite her with her father. While she talked to local police, giving a statement about how she had been driving by with the windows rolled down and heard screaming, and underwent questioning about the captor she claimed to have seen leaving the abandoned factory in Chicklow, detailing a man who looked like Willy Wonka, Taylor had been trying to keep calm. Eventually being released to head home, she had driven back to New Haven to await Amy's return, figuring it would be better than getting in the very-bossy John Winchester's way back in Willow. However, the closer she got to Yale, the more she was convinced Amy needed her help, nearly causing Taylor to turn around and head north.

Thankfully, her mind had gotten the better of her, telling her to return the rental car and head to their dorm to wait it out. As time ticked by, and with no sign of Amy, Taylor had become increasingly convinced something had gone wrong. With every pace, she was closer to hurrying back to Avis for the blue Hyundai. Fortunately, before she could wear her footprints into the floor, the sound of knocking on the door startled Taylor, causing her heart to pound and hope that Amy had finally come home.

"Oh, thank God," Taylor sighed, embracing her friend as soon as she appeared.

Holding onto the girl for as long as she could, Taylor eventually let Amy go, noticing that she had a look on her face that seemed both bothered and curious, marred under a mix of sweat and black blood. Passing into the common area, Taylor saw that her friend clasped an aged leather book in her hand, one that looked as though it was a diary bought long ago. As the two sat down on the couch, Amy set the journal on the coffee table in front of them, staring at it as though it were made out of something explosive. Reaching for it, Taylor went to grab it, only to have her hand pulled away. "No, not… J-just wait."

Frowning, Taylor turned to look at the other girl. "What is it?"

"It used to belong to my mom. My _real _mom," Amy answered.

Gasping in surprise, Taylor bit her lip, the sudden seriousness of the situation settling over her. "Wow."

"Yeah," Amy sighed, furrowing her brow. "John gave it to me outside. I spent the whole walk over trying to decide if I should open it."

Sitting up straighter, Taylor placed her hands on her knees, trying to suppress the urge to reach out and paw for the diary again. Though she was curious as to what was inside, and though she knew most Hunters kept personal experiences logged in an interesting way, this was Amy's to discover. While the girl almost never talked about her parents, real or adopted, Taylor was certain her friend was even more questioning as to what the book contained than Taylor could ever be. Glancing from between the journal and Amy, Taylor sighed quietly, not sure whether or not she should nudge the process forward or leave her roommate alone. It was obvious that Amy's entire future might hinge on what she found inside, whatever revelations were uncovered about her mother, and ultimately her father, and the kind of lives they lead. Undoubtedly, there was bound to be something contained in the journal that was likely to shatter the world around her friend, probably something that would change the way Amy saw her own life or saw herself.

However, though she knew the decision of whether or not to crack open the book was long from made, Taylor wanted to get the ball rolling, eagerness taking over even though the journal had only been sitting before her for five minutes tops. Clearing her throat, Taylor leaned forward on the couch, inching toward the diary. "What are you going to do?"

At the question, Amy looked up, an interesting emptiness in her eyes that caused Taylor to frown. If she had to guess, it seemed as though every emotion they had encountered during the previous few days had caught up to the girl all at once, from the anxiety of being arrested, to the lack of sleep they experienced, to the adrenaline of finally finding the missing kids, to whatever had gone down after Taylor had left Chicklow. There was a hollowness in Amy's eyes that she had never seen before, the green stare usually containing the permanent etch of curiosity. In all honesty, Taylor could only assume the drained glare indicated that a war was waging inside her friend's mind, as though the "_should I or should I not?_"was consuming her.

Becoming more worried than inquisitive, Taylor edged away from the journal, waving her hands in front of the girl's face as though to snap her back to reality. "Hello? Aims? Are you alive in there? What are you going to do? Are you going to open it or not?"

Gasping quietly as if coming back to herself, the emptiness disappeared, only to be replaced with the clear weight of the crossroads written on her face. "I, uh… I-I don't know."

_TO BE CONTINUED…_


End file.
